


To Lie With Lions

by Anjali_Organna



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Action/Adventure, F/F, F/M, Mystery, Original Character(s), Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-28
Updated: 2011-12-27
Packaged: 2017-10-28 07:24:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 32,378
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/305307
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anjali_Organna/pseuds/Anjali_Organna
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arthur, Merlin, Gwen, Morgana and Sir Leon have traveled to Iskandara, a desert country to the south of Camelot, for treaty negotiations with the powerful King Umar. What should be a straightforward visit becomes anything but after Merlin thwarts an assassination attempt.</p><p>Midnight sword fights in a foreign city. Lion-hunting through the desert. Magical duels. Political shenanigans. Unexpected makeouts in inappropriate places. Really though, it's just another day in the life for our heroes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the 2010 Merlin Big Bang. Set some time after 2x03 and goes AU after that. A huge thank you to my betas, netgirl_y2K and railise. Title shamelessly stolen from Dorothy Dunnett.

The procession into Iskandara was marred only by the inconvenience of an attempted murder. Merlin stopped it, of course.

He was riding in the back of the train with the luggage, banished by Arthur for some perceived offense or another. Gwen rode with him for company and to make sure he didn’t get into any more mischief. Iskandara was a dry country; dust stamped up from the pack horses swirled and clung to the bottoms of Merlin’s trousers and Gwen’s traveling dress. Ahead of them, the palace arched up out of the ground, its multiple domes gleaming roundly.

The town of Iskandara, through which they rode, was much larger than the lower town of Camelot. A hundred years ago, it had been clutched in the grasp of a bloody civil war, finally ended by the sheer force of will—and steel—of the current king’s great-grandfather. Now, trade with the East had made it prosperous, and the people who lined the streets with the hope of glimpsing the visitors from the north had the self-satisfied air of those who could no longer remember a time when commerce did not occupy every waking moment.

They were far enough back from the head of the train that no one could hear them. Merlin amused himself by doing an outrageous imitation of what he imagined to be the conversation between Arthur, Morgana and King Umar, riding stiffly together at the front.

Abruptly, Gwen stopped laughing and clutched Merlin’s arm. “Look! That man!”

Merlin looked. The sun draped itself over welcoming banners; caressed smiling faces of Iskandarans; melted down baked, earthen walls—and glinted off of cold metal. A man, grim and silent, held a blowpipe up to his lips, his eyes fixed to the head of the train. Merlin could see the metal-tipped dart, neatly packed into the pipe. He shouted and jerked the reins.

His horse, unaccustomed to such unskilled treatment and already on edge from the crowds, started and reared. Ears flat, she found the bit and lurched sideways, and the crowd scattered, yelling. The man, arrested on an inhale, looked away from his target and saw Merlin’s horse careening toward him, with Merlin bouncing wildly along, barely keeping his seat. The man’s neighbor, understandably panicked, flailed an arm and knocked the blowpipe out of the man’s hands. His object now lost, the man turned tail and fled into the crowd just as Merlin arrived, satisfied, and promptly fell off his horse.

*

“…And please accept my apologies, again, for my idiot manservant,” Arthur concluded. “I thought he’d progressed far enough to be able to stay on a horse.” He glared at Merlin, who looked appropriately chastened. King Umar smiled tolerantly.

“Do not worry overmuch. No one was injured.” Behind him, Queen Zuhra turned her head, her glass earrings tinkling in the cavernous meeting hall. At the far door, two young men entered.

“Ah,” Umar said. “Please allow me to introduce my sons. Akbar, the elder, and Amil.” The two approached, smiling. They both had their parents’ height and coloring, broad shouldered with dark skin. The same wide-set eyes and black hair, the same smile. But there the resemblance ended, for while Akbar was loose-limbed and athletic, standing tall and proud in the morning sunlight, his brother Amil was quite lame. He carried a wooden walking stick, intricately carved, which thumped along the stone floor as he walked. Up close, Arthur could see the trace of pain and weariness that marked his young face and doubtlessly affected all his physical exertions. Old men carried that look.

“We are so glad you have come,” Amil said, smiling cordially as he leaned against the arm of his mother’s throne. “Iskandara can only benefit from any relationship with Camelot.”

“And our bards are eager to hear of all your exploits,” Akbar added. “We hear such stories of Prince Arthur, going to war and defeating magical beasts and performing all sorts of heroic acts.”

Arthur smiled, embarrassed. “I assure you, it’s all exaggeration.” Both Merlin’s and Morgana’s eyes widened at this bit of uncharacteristic modesty. Arthur ignored them.

“Surely not.” Akbar grinned. “We must have you out for some sporting. Have you ever hunted lions?”

“I can’t say that I have,” Arthur replied, intrigued.

Amil shifted a little. But of course, he would not be able to take part in the sporting, Arthur thought.

“There will be plenty of time for that after the treaty negotiations are concluded,” Umar said, gently admonishing. “Please, take some rest. We shall convene in an hour to begin the negotiations.”

The royal family bowed them out of the sumptuous meeting hall, and a servant wearing a hat with a ridiculous trailing peacock feather led them to their quarters. He threw open the doors and announced stuffily, “Rooms for your Royal Highness. Should your Royal Highness need anything more, please ring the bell. I am His Majesty’s Chief Usher, and at your disposal.”

The feather floated in front of Merlin’s face. He poked at it inquiringly with one finger and then quickly dropped his hand and affected innocence as the usher glanced around. With his movement, the feather swished into Gwen’s face, who sneezed. The usher looked disapproving, as though sneezing by servants was not permitted.

“Thank you,” Morgana said quickly, as it was apparent that Arthur was still too grumpy to get involved. “I’m sure we’ll be quite happy here.”

The usher gave one last haughty look at Merlin and Gwen, both struggling to keep straight faces, and tripped off, feather swaying.

The Crown Prince of Camelot was afforded several rooms overlooking the Royal Gardens. Windows crisscrossed in lead were open, letting in a dry breeze. Arthur stomped to a table, heavily laden with fruit, and threw himself into one of the flanking chairs.

“ _Really_ , Merlin. You just had to embarrass me on the _first day_ of our visit? You couldn’t wait even one night to let me get settled in?”

Merlin ignored this, closing the door and turning to Gwen. “Did you get a good look at him?”

She shrugged, all traces of levity gone. “No more than you, I’d say.”

“What are you talking about?” Arthur said irritably as Merlin reached into a sleeve and pulled out the metal blowpipe.

“You _did_ get it,” Gwen exclaimed, pleased.

Merlin grinned. “Of course. Why’d you think I fell off the horse?”

“What is that?” Morgana asked while Arthur said simultaneously, “You mean to tell me you did that on purpose?” He stared at Merlin.

“Yes,” Merlin said. “It’s a blowpipe. A man in the crowd was attempting to shoot, well, either one of you, I suppose.”

Morgana paled. “Those can kill a man.”

“Wait a minute,” Arthur said, waving a hand. “You’re positive this man was aiming for us?”

“No,” Gwen said slowly. “King Umar was riding next to you. It could well have been meant for him.”

Morgana’s eyes went wide. “We need to warn him.”

Merlin shook his head. “We can’t risk telling anyone. If you or Arthur _are_ the real target, we’re better off pretending we don’t know.”

“But why not inform the king?”

“Because Umar could be the one behind it,” Merlin said. A short silence followed this pronouncement.

“Merlin’s right,” Arthur said heavily. “Bloody hell.”

“May I see it?” Gwen asked, holding out a hand. Merlin passed her the blowpipe, saying, “There’s some sort of mark stamped into it, but I don’t recognize it.”

She turned the metal pipe in her hands. It was surprisingly light, made of a finely-grained metal. Near the base was a marking in the shape of a hammer. “It looks like a guild stamp,” she said.

“You’re sure?” Arthur said. He looked abashed when Gwen raised an eyebrow at him. “My father _was_ a blacksmith,” she replied evenly. “It looks like the type of marking that the local smithy guild would require its members to stamp into all of their products.”

“But anyone could have bought this from a guild member,” Morgana said, dispirited.

“It’s a start,” Merlin said.

“All right,” Arthur decided. “Morgana, you and I will continue with the treaty negotiations and pretend nothing’s amiss. Meanwhile, Merlin and Gwen, you two try and find out as much as you can about this blowpipe. Maybe you can learn something that will lead us to this man.”

A knock sounded at the door, and Lord Percy Godfrey entered. He was a small, dark-skinned man, with a balding head and a round belly that spoke to the many feasts he’d attended over years spent as Camelot’s envoy to various kingdoms. His unassuming demeanor masked a quicksilver mind well-suited to the role of diplomat. When Arthur and his train left Iskandara, Godfrey would remain behind in his newest posting as ambassador.

“Sire,” he said now, “I thought we should go over some of the discussion points for the negotiations.”

“Oh, can we?” Arthur said dryly, but quelled before Godfrey’s look. “Sorry. Of course we should.” He looked a little despairingly at the large sheaf of papers that Godfrey began to spread out on the table.

Merlin cleared his throat. “Gwen and I need to start unpacking.” Arthur waved them away, squinting down at the papers.

*

As the Crown Prince of Camelot, Arthur had increasingly participated in the various treaty negotiations and acts of statehood that would help prepare him to be king. This entire mission to Iskandara, carried out solely by him, was to be his greatest test yet. He was therefore surprised to find during the first meeting that Akbar, the presumptive heir to Iskandara, contributed very little to the discussions while his brother Amil fell naturally into them. Their father, of course, controlled the tenor of the meeting but let Amil have free rein when fancy struck him, expounding on subjects as varied as currency exchange rate and the legal jurisdiction over foreign merchants, whenever they touched on the negotiations.

It wasn’t until the end of the session, when talk was winding down, that Akbar jumped in with a suggestion about horse breeding.

“Well…it’s certainly possible,” Godfrey said, frowning thoughtfully. “We can’t say concretely what our merchants will be most interested in trading. And no one in Camelot, as far as I’m aware, has any experience breeding and training the type of horses we find here. Your own breeders would be a better bet.”

“I don’t want those horses,” Akbar said. “I want to breed the type of horses you have up north. Your war-horses.”

There was an embarrassed silence. Everyone knew that the royal families of the north controlled the breeding rights to the huge, heavy stud-horses, which were bred specifically with strength and stamina in mind. These horses were trained to withstand the chaos of battle and could carry a knight in full armor. By controlling the breeding rights, the royal families essentially controlled who could purchase a horse that would support a knight, and thus, who could become a knight.

The light, beautiful desert horses, with their speed and agility, did not have the girth to carry an armored man. By asking to breed the war-horses, Akbar was essentially signaling his desire to create his own cavalry of knights. And presumably, one did not set out to create a cavalry without intending to use it. Which was a rather awkward topic at a negotiating table.

“Well,” Umar said, breaking the uneasy pause. “I’m sure we can discuss that later. Shall we take a small rest and convene for the feast?”

So dismissed, the men dispersed. Akbar exited ahead of Arthur, heading toward a group of elegantly dressed young men who’d been lounging indolently in an antechamber off of the meeting room. They jumped up as Akbar approached, stretching their muscles. One young man came toward Arthur, smiling hugely, and bowed. “May I beg milord’s pardon and have leave to introduce myself?”

“Of course,” Arthur said, inclining his head.

“My name is Caldor. I had the good fortune to be in the north several years ago, and saw your triumph at the joust in Cornwall. I must say it is a pleasure to finally meet you.”

“Thank you. You’re very kind.”

“I am sure milord Akbar has already conveyed his hope that you will join us for some hunting?” Caldor asked. “We so look forward to seeing the great Prince Arthur in action on the field.”

Arthur assured Caldor that he would indeed take part, and Caldor bowed again and rejoined the rest of the circle crowding around Akbar. Arthur noticed that the other young men gave way before Caldor, allowing him to join Akbar in the center. Chattering boisterously to each other, they disappeared en masse down the hall.

As Arthur and Godfrey headed toward their own rooms, they found themselves accompanied by Amil, thumping apologetically along. “You’ll have to forgive my brother’s notions of horse breeding,” he said. “He likes anything to do with fighting. The fact that horses of that size would do terribly in the desert seems to escape him.”

“Ah,” Arthur said, noting this convenient excuse. “Well, if it’s fighting he likes, I’m sure there are other things he can do to satisfy that urge.”

“Perhaps you can counsel him?” Amil suggested lightly.

“Of course,” Arthur replied slowly. They stopped outside the doors of Arthur’s chambers. Amil bowed and said, “Until later,” heading back down the hallway.

Morgana looked up from the table of papers as Arthur and Godfrey entered. “Well?”

“I hope you’re not marking those up with your stupid little handwriting,” Arthur grumbled, dropping down into a seat next to her.

“I’m making _notes_ ,” she protested indignantly.

“Tell me if I have this right,” Arthur said to Godfrey. “Akbar is the crown prince, but Amil has all the brains. All Akbar wants to do is fight, only there’s no one here for him _to_ fight. And Amil just encouraged me to help him find some sort of outlet for his brother to forestall Akbar going off and _creating_ someone to fight, whether they’re a real threat or not.”

“That’s it in a nutshell,” Godfrey said. “Of course, as long as Umar is king, controlling Akbar is not a great problem.”

“And when he dies?” Morgana asked. “Who will control Akbar then?”

“His brother. His councilors. But Umar is not very old. By the time Akbar assumes the throne, we can hope that he will be mature enough to restrain himself.”

 _Umar is not very old._ Arthur exchanged glances with Morgana. He knew they were both thinking of the assassin from that morning.

*

The next day, he was ambushed by the elder prince, who was surrounded by the same young courtiers. They were dressed for riding, and had the barely-suppressed air of men who were about to embark on a great adventure.

“My friend! You must accompany us,” Akbar said, clapping a heavy hand on Arthur’s back. Around him, the courtiers preened and fidgeted, clearly excited. “We are going hunting for lions.”

Arthur frowned. “What about the meetings?”

Akbar waved a hand carelessly. “Those can wait. It is a fine morning, and we have been looking forward to seeing the great Prince of Camelot in action.”

Arthur was about to demur when he remembered Amil’s entreaty. It was just one morning, and perhaps Akbar would be more settled during the afternoon negotiations, if he got his excess energy out beforehand.

“Let me get ready,” Arthur said, motioning to Merlin.

When asked if she would like to accompany them, Morgana wrinkled her nose in distaste. “Do I want to ride along in the baking heat and watch you attempt to kill lions? No, thank you.”

Shrugging, Arthur and Merlin, accompanied by Leon, headed toward the stables, only to be presented with three of the desert horses they’d been discussing the day before. They really were beautiful: delicate hooves and long, slender legs, built for speed, carried bodies that quivered and rippled at Arthur’s caress. Ears flicked attentively and intelligent eyes regarded him pensively. Arthur rubbed a hand admiringly down the neck of one and was rewarded with a light prance sideways as the horse tossed its head up proudly.

Arthur mounted and turned in time to see Merlin nearly bucked off. His manservant was struggling to stay on, gripping the reins and speaking urgently to the horse, who was clearly not reassured. Arthur’s own horse sat tranquilly under him, ready to move at his slightest touch.

“Your man doesn’t seem to do well on horses,” Akbar observed, bringing his own mount alongside Arthur’s. Merlin’s horse bucked again and Merlin yelped. Arthur rolled his eyes. “He’s normally not this bad.”

He swung down from his own horse and grabbed Merlin’s bridle. “Get down, you idiot. Take mine; she’s much calmer.”

Merlin got down hastily. The only thing separating his descent from an actual fall was the fact that he somehow managed to land on both feet. “Just because I didn’t get my first horse at the age of three,” he muttered to Arthur.

They remounted without any further mishaps on Merlin’s part. Arthur’s new horse settled immediately under his practiced hand, and Akbar nodded approvingly. “You’ve a good touch with horses.”

“Thank you,” Arthur replied, moving aside to let Caldor join them. The courtier was frowning at Merlin in annoyance; Arthur supposed Caldor was one of those men who believed that anyone who couldn’t ride beautifully had no business being on a horse.

Akbar led the way west out of town, passing people who stopped to look at them curiously before continuing on their daily business. A few children shouted and chased them for a few blocks, calling good-naturedly after them. Akbar obliged them by tossing over one shoulder a few coins which glinted as they described an arc downward. “They like to see their prince off to hunt,” Akbar confided to Arthur. “It’s good for them to know that I’m keeping sharp. Makes them feel safer.”

“Ah,” Arthur said noncommittally. Personally, he didn’t think these townspeople gave a hoot as to how many lions Akbar killed. Trade was the lifeblood of Iskandara; the town would probably feel safer knowing that their crown prince understood how to negotiate a competitive trade agreement.

Behind him, he could hear Leon engaging one of the accompanying Royal Guardsmen in conversation about lion-hunting.

“They’re mostly nocturnal,” Eldin was saying. “But they do hunt occasionally during the cooler morning hours, when their prey comes to the banks of the Ratterdan to drink.”

“What do they hunt?”

“Antelope, mostly. Although people farther south tell stories of seeing an entire pride take down an elephant.” Eldin sighed longingly. “We don’t get elephants this far north. My father saw one once, when he was a boy. It must have gotten lost or something. They captured it and put it in the royal menagerie, but it died two months later.”

“My grandfather commissioned a tapestry of it,” Akbar added, swinging round in his saddle to address Leon. “Frightfully ugly thing. The ivory was useful, though.”

“How fast are the lions?” Merlin asked.

“Pretty fast, over short distances. And they can leap clear over a man’s head.”

“I’d heard lions hunt in groups,” Leon said. “D’you have to separate them?”

“Yes,” Eldin answered. “And you have to be careful not to get separated yourself. Last thing you want is for the pride to try to take down _you_.”

Arthur raised a brow. “They hunt humans?”

Akbar shrugged. “They’ve been known to kill a farmer here and there, or maybe carry off a child or some livestock if the opportunity presents itself. But they generally avoid coming too close to town. Ah. Here we are.”

He motioned and the rest of the group reined in. Ahead, Arthur could see the blue of the Ratterdan, that great lake that watered Iskandara, and to the south, provided a fertile farming delta where the river Phylos flowed into it. Arthur could feel a cooling breeze against his cheek. The ground was just beginning to go marshy, and reeds sprouted thickly around rather emaciated cottonwoods. Three grooms, after nodding to their prince, spurred cautiously ahead.

“Where are they going?” Arthur asked.

“To flush out any lions,” Akbar replied. Arthur regarded him incredulously.

“You mean you just let them drive any lions _to_ you?”

Akbar frowned. “You make it sound so…ignoble that way. The grooms simply corral the lions into coming in our direction, and make sure they don’t escape around the lake. It’s how Iskandarans have always hunted.”

“Well, in _Camelot_ , half the fun is finding your quarry,” Arthur said, and kneed his horse after the grooms.

*

Merlin watched his prince ride off with a distinct sense of irritation. Then, ignoring the calls of Akbar and his men, he urged his own mount forward through the reeds. The three groomsmen looked alarmed when they spotted Arthur.

“My lord, it is not safe!” one exclaimed.

“Balderdash,” Arthur replied confidently. “It’s just an enormous tabby cat. I’ve handled far worse.”

The grooms did not look convinced, and Merlin regarded them with no small measure of sympathy. It would not occur to Arthur that if anything happened to His Royal Idiocy, these men would be held responsible.

“I promise,” he murmured to the closest one. “You will not be blamed for anything that happens.”

“Easy for you to say,” the groom retorted. “You won’t have to face the king.”

Merlin made a face. “Yes, I know.”

Ahead, Arthur had brought his mount alongside the lead groom, and was questioning him in a low voice on various lion-trapping tactics.

A shout from behind caused them all to twist around. It was Akbar and his men, red-faced and irritated.

“Oh, my god,” the groom next to Merlin moaned upon seeing his prince.

“It’s all right,” Merlin said with more assurance than he felt. “All the noise is likely to scare off any animals, right?”

“We can only hope.”

Akbar drew level with them. “Well, let’s go on, then,” he said with a forced smile. “Can’t let our visitors have all the fun, can we?”

Akbar was clearly not pleased at being forced along on the search. Merlin only hoped Arthur’s actions wouldn’t goad the other prince into staying out for hours searching for a lion, just to prove that he was as adventurous as Arthur.

It was going to be a very long morning.

*

Generally speaking, Morgana did not enjoy needlework. She was pretty much rubbish at it anyway. She’d been taught because needlework was What They Did With Ladies, but her father had been an indifferent overseer and Uther an oblivious one, so that Morgana learned the art but never fully mastered it. But embroidery could sometimes come in handy, as now, when Morgana asked leave of Queen Zuhra to join her and her ladies at their work. The queen acquiesced, smiling, and her ladies-in-waiting shifted over to make room for Morgana and Gwen.

They were in a solarium in the southern wing of the castle. Morning sun shone brightly through wide, leaded windows that must have cost a fortune. Morgana fumbled for a few moments with the needle, looked enviously at Gwen’s neat-as-a-pin cross-stitch, and settled herself for a nice, long gossip.

She’d learned early on the benefit of “idle” chatter in sniffing out the inner workings of a group of people. Councilors to kings were also husbands who talked to their wives, who then talked to other wives, who relayed new information back to their husbands, and so on. Even the most empty-headed courtier or lady-in-waiting most likely knew something of value. And at court, knowledge was indeed power. The trick was to sift through the speculation, rumors, and innuendo for the nuggets of truth.

So Morgana listened, and when talk swung her way, she imparted some strategic tidbits of her own that sounded juicy but lacked substance. A few of the younger ladies were curious about Arthur and Morgana was only too happy to assure them that no, he was not promised to anyone, and she herself was most definitely not interested.

“Really?” asked Lady Helene, one of Zuhra’s chief ladies-in-waiting. Her needle flashed in and out as she spoke, and Morgana glanced for a moment at thin, clever fingers, working without conscious direction. “You do not wish to be Queen of Camelot?”

“Not if I have to marry Arthur.”

“But he is very handsome, yes?”

“Yes,” Morgana acknowledged readily, smiling. “But I have a hard time looking at him and thinking of anything except the time when we were eleven, and he put frogs in my bed. Or the time when we were thirteen, and he had me banned from the training grounds because I kept beating him. Handsomeness does not erase the memories of a prattish younger brother.”

“Ah,” Helene said, her dark eyes crinkling in amusement. “Surely he is very changed in temperament since then? He seems much the young ruler-in-waiting, now.”

Beside her, Gwen shifted in her seat, still sewing industriously. Morgana shrugged. “He has changed quite a bit over the last few years. But I have a very long memory.”

“You are still young,” Helene said. “You have time yet.”

“Not so much time,” Zuhra said, not unkindly. “Why, I’d been married to my Umar for several years by the time I reached your age!”

“He seems like a very wise king. Iskandara is lucky to have him,” Morgana replied to Zuhra, but she looked at all the other ladies as she said it. Gwen, no stranger to how Morgana’s mind worked, glanced around casually as well. There was no discernable reaction. Zuhra smiled serenely. “We consider ourselves blessed.”

“And your sons,” Morgana continued, trying another tack. “Simply delightful. Why, at dinner last night, Akbar regaled me with the most _delightful_ stories.” This was, of course, a lie. He’d talked her ear off about various hunts he’d been on as well as other exploits, the veracity of which she doubted. Every time she’d tried to steer the conversation toward anything relating to statecraft, he’d grown uninterested.

“Did he, indeed?” Zuhra asked, and Morgana thought, _There it is._

“Well, I’m so glad,” said his mother. “I hope you’re not too tired of storytelling; tomorrow night we’ve invited Iskandara’s most accomplished bards to entertain us.”

“I can’t wait,” Morgana responded, politely accepting the queen’s maneuvering away from her sons.

*

Forty-five minutes of fruitless searching later, the hunting party had gone halfway around the Ratterdan and the only thing that had been discovered was the northern men’s propensity to sunburn in the desert heat. Merlin especially looked like a miserable, overcooked beet, his fair skin tenderized and pink. Arthur regarded his manservant, jolting listlessly in the saddle beside him, and opened his mouth to call to Akbar.

A shout from Eldin forestalled him. _Lions!_

As one, the men wheeled away from the lake and toward the labyrinth of valleys, or wadis, that beckoned to the north. Despite the heat and the wretched morning, Arthur felt a rising excitement within him. At first, all he could make out was a dun blur streaking ahead, lighter against the sandy ground, with a long, thin tail. As the horses gained ground, Arthur took in with satisfaction the heavy mane and the muscled flanks, working quickly over the terrain. It was a male, and a big one at that. Then it vanished into the mouth of the first wadi.

The riders crashed down the embankment after it, spilling loose gravel and rocks which clattered noisily after them. Arthur thought he caught another flash of tan, racing through the valley, and excited shouts from the men around him confirmed it. He was aware of Merlin dropping behind him, and of Akbar’s face, contorted with a sort of mindless glee, and he was sure his own face echoed it.

They were riding fast, too fast, over unfamiliar ground, and Arthur knew just how thoughtlessly stupid they were all being. Leon pulled alongside him, shouting happily. The valley twisted and turned, dark sandstone cliffs rising up around them. Here and there, scraggly bushes jutted hopefully out of the ground, catching and tearing on their stirrups.

Akbar and Caldor had pulled ahead, whipping their horses mercilessly. Arthur wondered how long the lion could keep up this pace, and suspected that it couldn’t be maintained forever. As if to prove his point, the animal changed direction, back legs sliding with the effort, heading toward the cliffs overhanging the valley. It had to pass right by Caldor, panting, and Caldor’s horse screamed in sudden panic and threw its startled rider. The lion paid no attention, racing to get to the relative safety of the cliff. Men shouted. A spear, hastily thrown, whistled past the beast to sink harmlessly in the ground. The lion made an agonized noise, less the roar of Arthur’s imagination and more of a bark, like an extremely large, extremely distressed dog. Then the lion leapt directly in front of him.

Time seemed to slow. Arthur, hands tensed on his own spear, watched the lion soaring in front of him, paws extended and reaching for freedom. His eyes traveled admiringly over the sinewy beauty of it, all muscle and straining tendons, stretched out like a springing bow, and he lowered his spear. When the lion landed, scrambling, on the side of the cliff and disappeared down a dark crevasse, Arthur let out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding. His horse shook itself, relieved that the danger was finally gone.

“What happened?” Akbar trotted up, disbelief on his face. “You could have gotten it!” Behind him, Caldor struggled to his feet, looking thunderous. He remounted, thrashing his horse savagely.

“I—sorry,” Arthur said, distracted. “It just reminded me of…something I regretted killing.”

 _“Regretted killing?”_ Akbar repeated, but Arthur wasn’t listening. His mind half in a forest outside of Camelot, he turned, searching. And frowned.

“Where’s Merlin?”

*

They found Merlin at the entrance of the first wadi. He was sitting on the ground, holding onto the reins of his horse. His saddle lay lopsidedly on the ground next to him.

“What are you _doing?”_ Arthur asked, reining in next to him. Behind him, the young men sniggered, and Arthur gritted his teeth in annoyance.

“Oh, you know me,” Merlin said airily. “Can’t stay on the horse.”

“This is getting ridiculous,” Arthur said, but without heat, because he heard the note in Merlin’s voice warning that all was not as it seemed.

“I know. Actually, I snagged the girth of my saddle on a branch or a bush or something. It ripped.” He looked apologetically at Akbar. “I’ll pay you back for the damage.”

Akbar shrugged, still amused. “Don’t think anything of it.” Beside him, Caldor looked at his prince quickly, no doubt surprised by Akbar’s generosity. “But perhaps you should avoid horses from now on?”

Merlin smiled. Arthur could tell the effort he put into it. “That is probably for the best.”

Akbar pointed to a groom. “Take Hardin’s mount. He can ride your horse bareback.” The groom dismounted obligingly, Merlin traded in his reins, and the party began the trek back to Iskandara.

“Merlin?” Arthur questioned, but his manservant shook his head slightly. _Not here_. Frowning, Arthur settled in for the return trip.

*

“Lady Morgana!” a female voice called as Gwen and Morgana were returning to their chambers. They turned to see Lady Helene striding after them. Morgana glanced at Gwen, who quirked a brow as they paused to wait for the other woman. “If you wouldn’t mind,” Helene said to Gwen, smiling easily, “I’d like to speak to your mistress for a moment.”

Both of Gwen’s brows went up ever so slightly at that, but she nodded, dropping a courtesy, before continuing along. Morgana regarded Helene curiously. The latter motioned to a doorway. “The Gardens are right this way. Would you fancy taking a turn with me? The air at this time of morning is so refreshing.”

Morgana was already sweating slightly underneath her court attire. She gave Helene a quizzical look, but followed her obediently out the door and into the bright Iskandaran sun.

The Royal Gardens were not laid out like the typical, formal northern gardens. High walls enclosed rambling paths lined with cottonwoods and olive trees. Helene led her along one such path, trailing a hand down to pluck a bright desert bloom.

“You are curious about our royal family,” Helene said without preamble, bringing the bloom up to her nose and inhaling. A few strands of her glossy brown hair caught on the petals, and Morgana checked a strange urge to free them.

“…Yes,” Morgana said, glancing back up into Helene’s face.

“More specifically, curious about Akbar.”

“Er…”

Helene laughed lightly. “It’s all right. I just wanted to let you know: he has been…indiscrete with visiting ladies in the past. I would not want you to find yourself in an uncomfortable position.”

“Ah,” Morgana said. “Thank you for the warning. But I assure you, I am not at all interested in Akbar.”

“Not your type?” Helene murmured.

Morgana grinned slyly. “Well, I generally don’t enjoy being held hostage to a minute-by-minute recounting of past hunting exploits. Arthur occasionally does that too.”

Helene laughed. “Yes, men do have a tendency to go on.”

“Amil doesn’t seem to be like that, though.”

“No. The princes do not share much in common with each other. It happens.”

“I’d imagine Amil’s condition only exacerbates things?”

Helene sobered. “Akbar is not…the most understanding of men. He does not have the same patience for his brother that Amil has for him.”

“Well,” Morgana said slowly, remembering Godfrey’s comments about the brothers, “Amil seems like he’s very good at…understanding his brother.”

Helene gave a slightly twisted smile, half-amused and half-pained. “You mean at managing him? Yes. We are all taking cues from Amil.”

Morgana glanced quickly at Helene. So, Amil was already being set up to act as chief councilor to Akbar. She wanted to ask Helene what Akbar thought of that, but knew the other woman probably wouldn’t answer.

The path they were wandering took a meandering turn. Up ahead, a sunken lake lay roughly near the center of the garden, its surface stirred by the ripples of a fountain that was surely powered by magic. Morgana found to her surprise that the resulting gurgling of water in the background did instill a phantom sense of coolness in her mind. Helene, leading her along the path, caught Morgana staring at it curiously.

“You like our fountain?”

“It’s magic, isn’t it?”

“Indeed. Probably an extravagant usage, but it’s soothing on a day like today, yes?”

“Mmm,” Morgana said agreeably, still looking longingly at the fountain.

“There used to be fish in the pond, but they didn’t agree with the spell,” Helene said regretfully.

“Didn’t agree? I don’t understand.”

Helene waved a hand casually. “Oh, you know how magic can sometimes interfere with lesser creatures that don’t have their own magic.”

“…I didn’t know that,” Morgana said, frowning.

Helene blinked. “Oh, yes, of course. I’d forgotten about Uther Pendragon’s...interesting views on magic. Forgive me for mentioning it.”

“Are you…?” Morgana stopped.

The other woman looked at her fully. “Yes?”

Morgana opened her mouth to speak.

“My lady!” Gwen’s voice called. Morgana’s mouth snapped shut. She looked around to see Gwen hurrying toward them, hands bunched in her skirts to hold them out of the way.

“Yes, Gwen, what is it?” Morgana tried to keep her impatience out of her voice.

“Prince Arthur and Merlin have returned,” Gwen said as she reached them. “The prince sent a note up requesting your presence.”

Morgana pursed her lips. “I’m sure he just wants to brag about killing lions.” Beside her, Helene looked down, smiling softly.

Gwen shook her head. “I don’t believe they caught any lions. But Merlin fell off his horse.”

“Again?”

“Yes, milady.” Gwen stared at her insistently. Morgana sighed.

“Oh, very well. I’m coming.”

*

“The girth was cut,” Merlin reported, when Morgana and Gwen joined them in Arthur’s quarters. “Not all the way through, but enough so that a bit of hard riding would rip it.” He looked soberly at Arthur. “That horse was meant for you, you know.”

Arthur sighed. “That’s it. We need to track whoever’s behind this down.”

“The guild stamp’s our best lead,” Merlin said, glancing at Gwen. “Perhaps the blacksmith who made it can remember whom he sold it to.”

Gwen walked over to a trunk, flipped the lid open, and removed the blow dart. “It’s a long shot,” she said, studying it once more.

Morgana shrugged. “It’s worth trying, at the very least. Arthur has another meeting and we have to go to the feast tonight, but I doubt anyone will think twice if the two of you aren’t there.”

“All right,” Merlin said. “We’ll go to the marketplace, and take things from there.”

*

Iskandara was famous for its covered marketplace, or bazaar, that served to protect the merchants and their goods from the arid climate. Camelot’s contingent had bypassed it upon entering the city; now, despite the circumstances, Gwen was rather pleased at the chance to visit.

The bazaar was enormous, as befitting Iskandara’s prime location on the intersection of several well-traveled trading routes. Thick limestone walls, pierced with metal grilles to let in light and air, ringed the perimeter of the bazaar, creating a fortress-like exterior that belied the utter pandemonium Gwen and Merlin found upon entering.

The noise was deafening. It seemed that everyone believed shouting to be the most efficient method of communicating: shopkeepers hawking wares cajoled reluctant shoppers, and heckled people attempting to walk past their stalls; customers haggled fiercely over prices, expressing outrage and disgust at what they viewed to be blatant price gouging; rival merchants jostled for customers’ attention and shrieked abuse at one another.

Color was everywhere too, from the vibrant green silks that a harried maidservant was attempting to inspect, no doubt for her elegant mistress; to the fierce orange and red spices that a man was folding into paper twists; to a stand of astonishing blue and purple feathers that threatened to tip over at any moment. There were tiny figurines of Eastern idols, in jade and ivory; heavy pelts of animals found far to the north; cloth of all kind, begging to be caressed; barrels and barrels of salt and grain. The halls echoed with commerce being transacted and profits made and lost.

People streamed all over the place, talking and gesturing. Despite the chaos, everyone seemed to know where they were going and no one looked twice at Gwen and Merlin, struck momentarily dumb. After a few stunned moments spent taking everything in, Merlin stirred and touched Gwen’s elbow. “Shall we?”

She blew out a breath. “Let’s go.”

*

Godfrey had participated in many diplomatic negotiations over the years. One did not last long as an ambassador if one was not very skilled at reading people, listening, and compromising in such a way as to keep most of one’s own objectives while letting the other party believe they were walking away with a favorable deal. He was good at it: he enjoyed the give-and-take of the negotiating table, and he enjoyed learning the peculiarities of each new court at which he was posted. He’d learned early on in his career that nothing was ever as it seemed, and that even the most placid-appearing court contained its fair share of intrigue and political machinations.

Iskandara was a case in point. From the outside, it seemed sound and had a secure succession, with the leading families and merchants of the kingdom all invested in the stability and success of the country. It was ruled over by an intelligent king, who’d chosen to surround himself with able councilors and an equally intelligent queen. Godfrey had been a young man, just starting his diplomatic career, when Umar had married Zuhra, but he remembered reading a particularly approving report on the union. It commented that Umar had been sensible in choosing a wife who had the ability to establish a regency and rule wisely, should anything happen to her husband while their children were young. And she’d gone on to do her wifely duty and produced an heir and the requisite spare, although the second son had been born lame.

But even the most stable kingdoms and the best-laid plans could be rocked by just one troublesome personality, Godfrey reflected, as he watched Akbar and Amil interact—or not, as it happened. Whereas in the previous meeting, Akbar had been content to sit back and let Amil ask questions and argue with the rest of the councilors, now he aggressively cut off his brother whenever the latter made a point or raised an issue. At first, Amil had pressed on, regardless of Akbar’s dismissals. However, as Akbar kept interrupting, Amil subsided, considering his brother cautiously, as a man does when confronted with a new opponent whose strengths and weaknesses he does not yet know.

King Umar, for his part, watched both of his sons inscrutably. Godfrey wondered why the man didn’t take more of a hand in the verbal dysfunction of his progeny, and mentally sighed. Fathers and sons. Some men couldn’t help but promote competition between their offspring; some men could not help but mask their true emotions towards their children, thinking they were teaching them how to survive. Godfrey glanced at Arthur Pendragon, and deliberately did not think of his own king.

On the bright side, the Prince of Camelot was performing admirably. He was obviously aware of the uncomfortable situation between the two brothers, but maintained the same vaguely courteous, professional demeanor without acknowledging in any way the undercurrents swirling around the room. Godfrey shifted a little in his seat and allowed himself a brief moment of pride in his prince. From various reports Godfrey had received as Arthur was growing up, he’d gathered that the boy had been a right terror for much of his childhood and teenaged years. It was a consequence of being indulged materially by an emotionally distant, powerful father; and all of Camelot’s councilors had spent their fair share of evenings privately commiserating over Camelot’s future in the hands of the spoilt princeling.

But this young man, while not entirely rid of his obstinacy, was clearly on the path to becoming something else: a king one served out of love, not just duty. A king one could believe in. A king worthy of the title.

Godfrey was startled out of his reverie by Akbar saying, quite clearly, _“No.”_

Godfrey looked up, and saw Prince Arthur blink in confusion at the other man. “I’m sorry?”

“I don’t like those terms,” Akbar said. “Why do the rates have to go down?” His voice was querulous and his hands clenched together on the table. A councilor said gently, “My lord, we decrease the taxation rates on visiting merchants over time to encourage repeated visits. Decelerating rates ensure longevity of trade.”

“It’s a similar agreement to what we have in our existing trade treaties,” Amil said placatingly. “But perhaps his highness would be open to renegotiating the initial taxation rate?”

Godfrey was about to answer for his sovereign when Arthur said, somewhat apologetically, “I’m afraid that my merchants would not be too pleased about that. I worry that any higher rate would prevent them from making the initial investment and force them to consider other trading routes.”

“The rate decreases too much,” Akbar said stubbornly.

“Well, I think—” Amil began.

“What _you_ think doesn’t matter!” Akbar burst out, and took a breath to continue speaking. His father beat him to it.

“Akbar, that is enough,” Umar said tightly. “You are dismissed.”

The prince rose to his feet, radiating anger. As he was leaving the room, his father said, “Amil, please continue,” and Godfrey saw the little check that Akbar made before departing.

Fathers and sons. It never changed.

*

Gwen had suggested starting out with the blacksmiths in the hope that they could, at the very least, identify the guild marking. Both she and Merlin knew from long experience that asking for directions in any market was sure to mark one out as a stranger, and thus open oneself up to harassment from the competing merchants. They’d already gotten somewhat vague directions from one of the palace servants and, so armed, began threading their way through the labyrinth of stalls.

Merlin kept getting distracted by various shiny things they passed; Gwen had to keep a firm grip on his arm lest he wander off down one of the side halls that branched off from the main thoroughfare.

“Arthur said to go straight there.”

“Arthur was just being a prat because he couldn’t come himself,” Merlin retorted, but he stopped pulling at her.

Resolutely ignoring a beautiful display of necklaces, Gwen said, “I still don’t think Umar’s behind this. Both were such clumsy attempts!”

Merlin shrugged. “If it is Umar, he has to take care not to do anything that could be traced back to him. He doesn’t want war anymore than Camelot does.”

“Then why would he want Arthur dead?” she asked.

“Have you _met_ Arthur?” Merlin said, laughing, and ducked away from Gwen’s swat.

“Maybe it’s someone who followed us from home,” she mused. “Arthur certainly hasn’t made any friends upholding his father’s ban on magic. And it would be easier to make an attempt on his life here, away from the protections of Camelot.”

“There was nothing magical about that man,” Merlin said with certainty. “Trust me.”

“How could you tell if he had magic or not?” Gwen asked curiously, before a careless shopper next to her upset a cage of live chickens. Squawking, the birds tumbled out of the cage and ran headlong into the packed isle, feathers flying. It was easy to tell which way they went by following all the swearing and stumbling in the crowd. Their owner gave a howl of despair and plunged after them, flailing at anyone he suspected of taking an errant bird. Merlin grabbed Gwen and pulled her out of the way just before a soldier, come to restore order, stumbled over one of the chickens and went down, twisting wildly. His journey ground-ward was slowed by a passing youth and two sacks of feed, which cushioned his own fall but did nothing to quell the general excitement. Feathers and dust hung heavy in the air.

“Thank you,” Gwen said breathlessly as they drew back from the mêlée.

He grinned at her. “It was mostly luck. Normally, I’d be right in the middle of a mess like that.”

“Normally, you’d have caused it,” Gwen said, grinning back. “In this case, I think a small detour is acceptable, don’t you?”

“Lead on,” Merlin replied.

They found the booths of the blacksmiths with no more fowl-related incidents. Gwen assessed the assembled swords, daggers, poniards, and other instruments of war with a practiced eye. Then, choosing a stall set off a little ways from the rest of the smiths, she picked up a sword and held it aloft, admiring the play of light down the blade.

“That one’s a real beauty,” the proprietor said proudly. “One of my favorites.”

“It is indeed,” Gwen agreed. “The balance is nearly perfect. And the folding—you don’t see craftsmanship like this very often, nowadays.”

The proprietor raised a brow. “You know smithy work, young lass?”

“My father was a blacksmith. I grew up pumping the bellows for him.” She smiled ingratiatingly at the man, who beamed back.

“Did you now? Small slip of a girl like you? I find that hard to believe!”

“Believe it or not, it’s true.”

“Well, what can I help you with? A sword for your friend there? A dagger for yourself?”

“I was actually in the market for a peashooter,” Gwen confided. “I was hoping to show my friend how to hunt for guinea fowl with darts.”

The man frowned. “Not a lot of small game birds around here. Some quail, I guess. Most people use bow and arrow.”

Merlin stepped forward, smiling apologetically. “Afraid I’m terrible with bow and arrow. I’m hoping a blow dart requires less coordination.”

The man took in Merlin’s long arms and legs and smiled understandingly. “I see. Unfortunately, I don’t sell any shooters. You might try Hephastian’s stall over there. He’s the only one I’ve ever seen sell something like that.”

Gwen thanked him and they stepped away.

“None of his wares had that marking,” Merlin noted.

“Mmm. I don’t think he is a member of any guild. Did you see how his stall is set off from the others?”

“I wondered about that.”

Hephastian’s stall was quite a bit larger. What was more, every single piece of merchandise was stamped with the hammer. Hephastian himself was a large man, with strong arms and thick wrists. The typical smith build, Gwen knew.

He was friendly enough until she asked about blowpipes. Then, brow lowered, he said stiffly, “What’d you want with one of those?”

When Merlin explained about hunting birds, Hephastian’s expression shuttered and he said, “You’re only going to find a few flocks of quail in these parts. You’re not from here, are you?”

Merlin and Gwen glanced at one another. “We’re visiting,” Merlin said slowly.

“I see,” Hephastian replied, eyes sharp. “I’m afraid I can’t help you. As you can see, I don’t have any blowpipes here.”

“Have you ever made some, for anyone?” Merlin persisted.

“I make a lot of things,” the smith said. “But I can’t help you with this.”

“Thank you,” Merlin said, looking hard at the man. “You’ve been very kind.” They turned and walked away, Gwen glancing once over her shoulder. Hephastian was still staring after them.

Merlin snorted. “He knows something. He was barely trying to hide it, too.”

“A smith would know where and how to cut a girth so that it rips,” Gwen said thoughtfully.

Merlin nodded, pulling her around a corner. “I say we wait here for a bit, see if he goes anywhere.”

Gwen raised her brows. “It’s the middle of the evening rush. You think he’ll leave his booth?”

Her friend shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe if we made him nervous enough. It’s worth waiting twenty minutes or so.”

*

Back at the palace, Morgana ignored Arthur’s fidgeting and tried to concentrate. One of Umar’s councilors was giving a toast to the lasting friendship between Camelot and Iskandara. As far as toasts went, it was rather lacking; but the councilor, Morgana knew, also owned a substantial tract of land through which the eastern trade routes ran. It was wise to attend to him, no matter how terrible he was at public speaking.

“They should have been back by now,” Arthur muttered out of the side of his mouth. He and Morgana were seated on the raised dais of honor, next to Umar and Zuhra. Akbar and Amil presided over their own tables farther down. The court of Iskandara was spread before them, and Morgana couldn’t help but notice that a few courtiers were themselves struggling to stay interested in the toast. Through the windows, arched in the style of the region, she could see the sun, slowly sinking.

Morgana kept her smile fixed on her face. “It’s barely been two hours. _Pay attention_.”

“I am!” he growled. “Saldin is exceedingly glad to bear witness to Iskandara’s new relationship with Camelot, and even more glad for the influx of traders from Camelot that he hopes to tax on their way to the East.”

“And you should be glad as well,” Morgana said severely. “These new trade routes will make Camelot richer by half.”

“I _know_ , Morgana, I’ve been preparing for this mission for months now.”

“You mean your councilors have,” Morgana said, rather unfairly. Arthur sneered at her half-heartedly but, surprisingly, made no response. Off to the side, she could see Godfrey glaring sourly at them.

“How on earth did he manage to accumulate all that land?” she wondered. “He cannot be much of a politician if this is what he thinks a speech should be.”

“He married into it,” Arthur answered. “From what Godfrey said, his in-laws were extremely persuasive—with a sword. I doubt this one’s had to do much more than collect taxes.”

Saldin paused, and Morgana’s heart lifted, hoping he was done. The man inhaled, and then continued speaking.

Her shoulders slumped.

*

In the end, it was closer to half an hour, as Hephastian was delayed by several customers inspecting swords. Gwen was in favor of leaving, but Merlin stubbornly insisted on waiting, sure Hephastian would lead them somewhere.

And lead them he did, on a merry chase through some of the busiest streets of Iskandara. At one point, Gwen thought they’d lost the smith when they got stuck behind a farmer engaged in a protracted battle of wills with a recalcitrant donkey. Dancing on the balls of her feet, well outside the range of the donkey’s tossing hooves, she watched despairingly as Hephastian neared the end of the block and began to turn out of sight. Miraculously, two barrels of flour tumbled to the street in front of him and cracked open, spilling white powder into the air. Hephastian obligingly waited a moment as the owner of the flour, cursing his bad fortune, retrieved the rolling barrels from the middle of the street.

“That was a lucky break,” Gwen commented, finally able to skirt round the donkey.

Merlin smiled. “Wasn’t it?”

They followed him down two more blocks and up another main avenue when Merlin grabbed Gwen and slammed them both up against a building. “Ouch! Merlin, _what?”_

He shushed her and leaned out to look. Cautiously, Gwen leaned as well.

Hephastian had been joined by the would-be assassin from the procession into Iskandara. They spoke together tersely, walking quickly into an imposing building made of the same heavy limestone blocks as the bazaar. There was an etching of the same hammer symbol carved into one of the blocks around the door.

“Guild headquarters, you think?” Merlin whispered grimly to Gwen. “I say we wait for him to come out.”

Gwen glanced up at the sky. The sun was sinking fast: Arthur and Morgana would be finishing up soon. “We need to tell Arthur and Morgana about this.”

Merlin pursed his lips. “All right. You go back to the castle. I’ll wait here for awhile longer; see if they come out.”

Gwen squeezed his shoulder and left.

*

By the time dinner was over, Arthur was ready to declare war on any small, unsuspecting hamlet, just to relieve his feelings. He stalked through the hallways, bowing perfunctorily at passing nobles, with Morgana hot on his heels.

They finally reached their rooms and found Gwen, waiting anxiously.

“What happened?” Arthur asked, walking swiftly to Gwen. “Are you all right? Where’s Merlin?”

She smiled briefly at him. “I’m fine. He’s still in the town. He’s waiting—oh, I’d better just start from the beginning.” Quickly, she explained about the blacksmith Hephastian, following him through the town, and seeing the would-be assassin.

“Merlin’s still hiding outside the guild headquarters, hoping to catch one of them when they come out,” Gwen finished. She frowned as Arthur went to the bureau and pulled out Merlin’s traveling cloak. “What are you doing?”

“Going to find him, of course,” Arthur replied, pulling off his heavy, embroidered court doublet. “I shudder to think what Merlin will destroy if he’s left to wander around Iskandara unsupervised.”

Morgana arched a brow. “So, you’re just going to go wander around the town _with_ him, while an assassin who may or may not want to kill you is on the loose? You’ve had a number of stupid ideas over the years, Arthur, but this one tops them all.”

Arthur glared at her. “It may have escaped your notice, Morgana, but I _can_ take care of myself.”

“Barely,” she muttered. Lifting her chin, she said, “I’m going with you. You need someone to watch your back.”

“Out of the question,” he said brusquely. “It’s far too dangerous.”

Morgana snorted. “ _I’m_ not the crown prince of Camelot. _I_ don’t have a giant target painted on my back.”

“We don’t know that you’re not a target, too,” Arthur pointed out, buckling his sword belt.

“We’ll all go,” Gwen said. Arthur stopped buckling and stared at her.

“Er…I really don’t think you should—” he began, but Gwen cut him off impatiently.

“Morgana’s right. We’re safer together. And seeing how neither of you knows how to _get_ to the guild headquarters...”

Morgana smirked at Arthur. “What about Lord Godfrey?”

“He’ll have a conniption if he finds out,” Arthur said, shaking his head.

“You mean he’d forbid you to go,” Morgana stated.

Arthur scowled. “He can’t make me do anything.”

“Keep telling yourself that, Arthur,” Morgana returned before turning to her handmaiden. “Did we pack any less…showy cloaks?”

“Of course,” Gwen replied, crossing the room to a trunk and throwing it open. “Milady, you probably should change out of your court attire as well.”

“And I want to find a sword,” Morgana added.

Arthur opened his mouth to make an acerbic comment about wasting time, looked at Gwen, and decided against it. He settled against the footboard of the bed to wait.

*

Disguised as servants of the Prince of Camelot, they were able to slip out of the palace with only a modicum of fuss. Gwen led the way through town in the glimmering twilight. There were few people about, most townspeople having already sought the warmth of their hearths against the chill of the encroaching desert night.

She found Merlin much in the same place, back wedged against a doorframe, peeking out periodically to check the guild headquarters. He started when he saw all of them.

“You know, being stealthy only works with one or two people,” he said as they approached.

“They insisted on coming,” Arthur said, conveniently ignoring the fact that he would have been lost without Gwen. “Any sign of our man?”

Merlin shook his head. “I was actually about to pack it in. Neither of them has come out.”

“Is there a back entrance?” Morgana asked sensibly. Merlin stared at her. “Uh…”

Arthur rolled his eyes. “Oh, _honestly.”_

There was, unfortunately, a back entrance. Merlin looked at it a little forlornly. “They could have left at any time, and I wouldn’t have noticed.”

“Never mind,” Morgana said, taking his elbow. “At least now we know a few more of the players. Come, let’s go back to the palace and have a proper council of war.”

Arthur handed Merlin a small unlit torch from his belt and then drew back to walk beside Gwen after lighting his own. The streets were now completely deserted, and cold was beginning to settle. The moon had broken through the eastern horizon and was rising, impersonally.

“I didn’t think of the back door either,” she said apologetically.

He smiled down at her. “It’s all right.” She felt him touch the small of her back. “We’ll figure this out.” Despite the layers of her cloak and clothes, she could feel his fingers, lingering. She shivered.

“Are you cold?” he asked, concern creasing his brow. “D’you want my cloak?”

Gwen was about to reassure him when she saw Merlin and Morgana jerk to a halt in an intersection in front of them. A group of men were approaching down the street. They did not look friendly.

“Arthur…” Merlin warned. Arthur drew his sword. Following his lead, Morgana drew her own sword and Gwen took out the daggers she was carrying, tossing one to Merlin, who was unarmed.

“These odds aren’t so bad,” Arthur said, flipping his sword. “I’ve definitely had worse.”

“Now is not the time to brag, Arthur,” Morgana growled.

Gwen glanced behind them. Several more men melted out of the street, all carrying swords. One of them was the blow-dart assassin.

“Um…I think it just got worse,” she said.


	2. Chapter 2

With the automation that comes from long experience, Arthur mentally went through all the possibilities. Stay, and try to bluff. From the look of the approaching men, it didn’t seem like they’d be receptive to talk. Stay, and fight. Their attackers were all armed, and on home territory.

So, flee then. It was possible. They were in a strange city, at night, with two swords, two daggers, and whatever ingenuity could come up with.

“Morgana,” he called quietly, “It’s time to be creative.” Then he gripped Gwen firmly by the elbow and yanked her down the side street. The sounds of pounding feet told him his foster sister and manservant had followed them. He hoped Morgana remembered the exhortations of the swordmaster who’d first taught them both to fight. _Be creative,_ that strange, small man had counseled. _Always believe that your opponent knows the same fighting formations you do. Be unexpected._

Arthur Pendragon was damned well going to give these men the unexpected.

*

Morgana heard Arthur, and smiled fiercely to herself. She and Merlin ran after Arthur and Gwen down the first side street and up another. She could hear the sounds of pursuit and men swearing. Arthur spun around by a stack of barrels, shoving Gwen on, and waited for Morgana and Merlin to pass. Merlin paused, and behind her Morgana heard barrels clattering over and thumping down the street. Then Merlin was back by her side and Arthur, sprinting ahead, caught up to Gwen.

Morgana glanced behind her, noting the decrease in men. Either several of them had been waylaid by the rolling barrels or, more likely, they had split up in an attempt to head off their quarry. Safety lay in the palace; whether or not Umar was actually behind this attack, to so openly deny them his protection at the palace would mean immediate, outright war. Now, these men would surely try to divert them away.

Arthur had evidently come to the same conclusion, as he had given up trying to head directly toward the palace. Instead, he took a zig-zag approach, making alternating left and right turns that brought them through the town on a parallel path to the palace. Along the way, they pounced on opportunities that would hinder their pursuers whenever possible.

Barrels were the favorite. Salt, grain, and mead went pouring into the street as the emptied containers were sent tumbling backwards. Morgana careened into another wooden tub, spilling some sort of white powder into the air, and tried not to think about the sheer amount of money they were wasting. Merlin took one look at her hair and face, streaked with white, and laughed in hiccupping, gasping bursts as they ran on.

They were making an awful lot of noise, and here and there, people would pop their heads out of windows complainingly, only to beat a hasty retreat once they noted the number of unsheathed swords running by. Morgana could only hope that at some point, one of Umar’s patrols would catch wind of the ruckus and come investigate.

They scrambled over walls, landing in various refuse piles when they were lucky, and on the hard ground when they weren’t. Arthur led them through a barn and ducked through animal corrals, startling various livestock. Along the way, Merlin loosed a pen of pigs and goats, which went squealing in every direction. The animal’s braying coincided with more shouting from behind them, and Arthur sent Merlin an approving grin before running to help Gwen, who was shoving at a cart left in a half-open shed. Together, they manhandled it into the street and sent it speeding away, wheels creaking. It narrowly missed Morgana, who skipped nimbly around it. She accidentally dislodged a stack of cheeses that had been set out to dry in the sun and watched sadly as they bounced away, before picking up a coil of rope and looking at a jutting pole thoughtfully. Merlin grasped her intention immediately, taking the one end to the other side of the street, looping it around a wooden beam and pulling tight.

Gwen and Arthur had run ahead while Morgana and Merlin finished securing the rope. The sound of steel clashing on steel caused them to speed up. They rounded the corner in time to see Arthur withdraw his sword from the belly of the blow dart assassin and Gwen duck under the outstretched arm of another man. Morgana, gritting her teeth, brought her sword down hard and hacked off the second man’s arm. He screamed, blood spurting, and was silenced by Arthur’s blade.

Morgana reached down, trying not to look too closely at the dead man’s severed hand. She plucked the weapon out and flipped it to Merlin. He caught it, barely, and whirled around just as another two men came round the corner and charged.

The next few moments were a blur of ducking, pivoting and parrying. Screeching steel and grunts were all she heard, and she was only aware of the movement of the man in front of her, and of Merlin, by her side. Then an extremely hard hit forced her back, sword arm tingling, and she looked up in time to see Gwen snatch up one of the fallen torches and, delicately, light Arthur’s opponent on fire.

As soon as he noticed, the opponent howled, and Morgana laughed aloud. It was distraction enough for Arthur to find an opening and end him. As Morgana glanced back, Merlin executed a perfect stop-thrust and yelped in surprise when it worked. His adversary gurgled a little, but was most definitely incapacitated.

“Merlin!” Arthur exclaimed. “All those lessons _did_ pay off!” He sheathed his sword and grabbed Gwen’s hand. As they streaked off, Morgana heard him say admiringly, “Going for the torch was a nice touch.”

Morgana turned back to Merlin, sheathing her own weapon. He was tugging futilely at his appropriated sword, sticking out of the man’s chest.

“It’s probably stuck in his ribcage,” she said, and was rewarded with a disgusted look.

“What? It’s true—”

She never finished her sentence, because another one of their pursuers burst forth from the corner, sword out. Morgana reached for the hilt of her sword, knowing she was never going to get it out in time, and flinched as a flash of light exploded around him. He collapsed at her feet, quite dead.

She turned wide eyes from his corpse to Merlin, whose own eyes were fading back from gold.

*

They’d gone round a corner and down another block by the time they realized that Merlin and Morgana were no longer behind them. “We can’t leave them,” Gwen said urgently.

“Curse it!” muttered Arthur, turning and running back the way they’d come. It was a short run, as two men saw them at the intersection and shouted. Arthur skidded to a stop and scrambled back, spinning Gwen with him. “This is ridiculous,” he panted.

“I know,” she said breathlessly. They rounded the corner yet again and he darted into a dark opening in the side of the street, which opened onto a small courtyard. The door to the house was shuttered fast but Gwen, slipping by Arthur, used her shoulder to shove hard at a second door, which gave with a groan, and they stumbled into a barn. Light from the full moon spilled through the doorway, illuminating the barn with its chilly glow. Two horses whinnied in surprise, stamping their hooves; and chickens, roosting in an alcove next to the doorway, clucked in alarm. “Shhh!” Arthur whispered ineffectually.

It was no good. Gwen heard their pursuers enter the courtyard. As Arthur drew his sword, she moved back to the alcove and dropped to a knee. Ignoring Arthur’s hissed inquiry, she shook out the assassin’s blowpipe from her pocket. The dart was still tucked inside.

The men burst through the doorway, swords at the ready. Arthur engaged the first man, sword clanging. The second man paused, no doubt searching for her. Gwen took a deep breath, and spat.

As he was only a few feet away, she could hardly miss, and watched, lips tight, as he went crashing down. His companion kicked out viciously and Arthur stumbled backwards. Face full of anger, the man whirled on her, sword raised. Without thinking, Gwen reached out, grabbed the first thing her hand encountered, and threw.

Egg splattered across the man’s face, and he stopped, shocked. The chicken she’d just stolen from shrieked in outrage, pecking her arm, so Gwen threw that, too. The bird, perhaps stunned by the novelty of flying through the air on someone else’s power, didn’t react until it hit the man. Then, wings flapping and sharp feet scratching, it made its displeasure known. The man threw up his arms, batting at the bird.  
Arthur, coming up from behind, made quick work of their attacker and then looked at her.

“Guinevere…you just threw a _chicken_ at someone.” Then he started to laugh.

*

For a moment, Morgana was so angry she couldn’t speak. Merlin straightened slowly, watching her with caution.

“You…you,” she started and then words gave way and she stepped forward and hit him across the face. He reeled back a little and put up a hand to his lip, now trailing blood. _“How long have you known?”_

“All my life,” he answered steadily.

“All your…” she repeated, faltering. “So. What did your magic tell you about me?”

“You have visions of a future that could be,” he said. “That is the mark of a Seer.” She could hear in his voice how careful he was being. Her lips thinned.

“Is that all?” she asked coldly. “I have _visions?_ After all the lies you’ve spun, you’re going to stand there and tell me something I _already know?”_

“Morgana,” he said, “you could be a sorceress. I don’t know yet. The signs are not quite the same. It doesn’t…it doesn’t happen in the same way for everyone.”

As she stared at him, she heard yet more pursuers approach. She raised one eyebrow. “Deal with them. We both know you can.”

“Morgana—”

It was only one man, this time. He was limping a little but sped up when he saw them. Morgana stayed resolutely still, standing passively in the middle of the street without going for her sword. As the man approached, lifting his sword, Merlin raised his arm and spoke. He looked pained.

Morgana watched, greedily, as Merlin’s eyes changed. The same light flashed, and the man stumbled and fell. She nudged him with one foot.

“You killed him,” she observed.

“Yes,” Merlin whispered.

“You killed both of them. I see.” She turned narrowed eyes back to Merlin. “It wouldn’t do to have any survivors who could attest to your magical abilities, would it? Tell me, Merlin, what are you going to do about _me?”_

“Don’t,” he exclaimed wretchedly. “Please. I wouldn’t—I’m not going to do anything to you. I understand that you’re upset with me, I know how you must feel—”

 _“Do you?”_ Morgana asked. Anger, fear, and anguish were pumping through her. All this time, she’d longed for someone who could give her some answers, provide her with some comfort and guidance through this terrifying, mystifying force that had taken hold of her. And here was _Merlin_ , whom she’d seen practically every day for a year, who had given her such _superficial_ comfort all while he’d suspected, and said not a word. She felt lightheaded with rage.

Merlin took a step towards her. “Look, this isn’t—we can’t just stay here. Please, let’s go back. We can talk more at the palace.” He started to reach for her and she twisted violently away.

“Don’t you _dare_ touch me.” They were both breathing hard. Merlin’s eyes dropped and he stepped back.

She fought for, and won, a small measure of composure. “And what about Arthur? I assume he doesn’t know.”

She could see desperation written plainly across his face. “No! Please. Morgana, don’t tell him. You can’t tell him. He wouldn’t—he won’t understand.”

Morgana pursed her lips. “You may be right about that,” she mused. “He is a Pendragon, after all.”

Merlin flinched. She said, “Well. It’s good to know that I’m not the only one concerned about getting my head chopped off.”

“Arthur would never—” Merlin began.

“Arthur isn’t king, Merlin. Uther is. And he loves me,” she said with more confidence than she felt. “Tell me: how does he feel about you?”

*

Arthur was still laughing as he extended a hand to pull her up. Gwen used the momentum to carry herself forward, rocking up on her toes and silencing him with her lips. For a split second, he didn’t react, and she was about to pull away, mortified, when his hands came around, locking her body to him. His sword, still clutched in one hand, jabbed into her hipbone and she hissed a little mid-kiss. Arthur huffed out a laugh, still kissing her, dropped the sword on the ground with a thud, and walked her two steps backward. Her shoulder blades hit the alcove shelving and she heard, dimly, some more disgruntled chicken squawks. She giggled.

“Shhhh,” Arthur mumbled, hands insistent on her bum and in the curls at the base of her head. He pulled up a little with his lower hand, bringing her body more fully in contact with his own, and they both groaned. Gwen wedged an elbow on a shelf to better gain leverage upward and was rewarded with a sharp peck on the arm. She broke away from Arthur, swearing and laughing at the same time, and rubbed her sore arm.

“What is it with this day and _chickens_ ,” she said breathlessly and then her smile faded a little as she glanced up. Eyes dark, Arthur gazed down at her, his chest rising and falling quickly with the force of his breathing.

“Well,” he said, blinking.

“Um…sorry?” she offered, and wrung a crooked smile from him.

“Believe me, it was most definitely my pleasure,” he said, echoing one of his earlier sentiments to her, expressed after she’d saved him from the gargoyle. “Apparently, all it takes to get you to fling yourself at me is a little danger. I’ll be sure to remember that.”

She gave him a look before bending down to retrieve her dagger and his sword. The blowpipe went back in her pocket. “Sorry,” she said again. “I just—we’re _alive_ , is all.”

He looked at her knowingly. “It happens, sometimes, after a fight. It’s the rush. I understand.” His smile, when it came, was full of gentleness. “We should get going.”

“Do you think we should do anything about these bodies?”

He glanced around the barn. “Like what?”

“I don’t know. It seems rather rude to just leave them here.”

Arthur chuckled. “Gwen, we’ve spent the last few hours being chased by men who want to murder us, and you’re concerned about being _rude_.”

She harrumphed. “Oh, never mind.”

The streets were utterly deserted, and silent. They’d both lost their cloaks somewhere along the way, and the chill seeped into their bones. Despite this, and the bloody horror of the night, Gwen had cause to be happy, walking side-by-side with Arthur, their shoulders brushing.

There were several more bodies in the intersection where they’d last seen Morgana and Merlin. Arthur stooped over one of the bodies, frowning.

“He’s dead, but I can’t see any visible cause.”

Gwen shrugged. “You just might not be able to tell in the moonlight. A blow to the back of the head, perhaps?”

He straightened, still frowning. “Head wounds generally bleed quite a bit. And there’s no sign of Merlin or Morgana. They couldn’t, I don’t know, leave a note?” His tone was churlish.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Gwen said. “Do we try to search for them or head back to the castle?”

Arthur sighed. “I think we should go back. If they’re not there, I’ll take the knights out. But hopefully, they’re fine and will be waiting for us.”

*

Getting back into the Palace was a lot easier now that Merlin could simply use magic to render the guards and servants they encountered unconscious. That didn’t mean he liked doing it. He was hyperaware of Morgana behind him, watching intently, but she didn’t speak as they snuck through the hallways.

He was further saved by the presence of Godfrey and Sir Leon, waiting in Arthur’s chambers. The ambassador was quivering with suppressed anger. His eyes swept over the two of them, briefly.

“Where is he?” Godfrey demanded. Merlin glanced at Morgana, making her way to a chair off to the side, but she did not look back at him.

“Uh,” Merlin began. “Well…”

_“Where?”_

“We’re not entirely sure.”

“You’re not entirely sure,” Godfrey repeated. “You disappear, for _hours_ , and when you return, you’re both carrying swords that look like they’ve been used and the Crown Prince of Camelot is not with you. Tell me why I shouldn’t throttle the two of you right now.”

Leon interjected, “I’ve been trying to tell Lord Godfrey that the prince does this. He goes off, all the time, and he’s always returned. Course,” he continued, flicking a look at Merlin, “you’re usually with him.”

At that, Merlin felt Morgana’s gaze, swinging up from her perusal out the window and locking on his face with dawning comprehension.

Godfrey pinched the bridge of his nose. “I’m beginning to remember why I keep taking posts away from Camelot. He’s the crown prince and _only heir_. He’d do well to remember it.”

“I wouldn’t worry overmuch,” said Leon blithely. “He knows how to take care of himself.”

As if to prove his point, the door opened and Arthur and Gwen slipped into the room. They looked much the same as Merlin and Morgana: battered, dirty, and tired. Arthur stopped when he saw Godfrey. “Ah, hallo there, Godfrey,” he said, rather baldly.

“My lord,” Godfrey said coolly. “Your manservant was just about to explain to me where he’d lost you. And what it was you all were doing.”

Arthur glanced at Morgana, who looked unhelpfully at the floor. Gwen made her way to Merlin’s side and whispered, “You’re all right?”

He nodded mutely.

“And Morgana?” she added, looking at her silent, withdrawn mistress still ensconced in the side chair.

Before Merlin could respond, Arthur said to Godfrey, “It’s all Merlin’s fault, actually.”

Of course. Merlin sighed.

*

Godfrey was silent for a moment after they finished explaining. “I wish you’d come to me immediately,” he said finally.

His prince scowled. “I would have told you eventually.”

“You should have at least taken some knights with you tonight, sire,” Leon said reproachfully, and received an annoyed glance for his trouble.

“From now on, milord, you’re not to go anywhere without an escort,” Godfrey ordered. “Same goes for you, Lady Morgana.”

“Won’t Umar and his councilors wonder if I’m being shadowed everywhere I go by knights?” Arthur protested, sinking sulkily into a chair. The king’s ward didn’t react at all. Godfrey briefly wondered what could possibly be so enthralling about the view out of the window.

“I am willing to risk offending Umar’s sense of hospitality,” Godfrey said. “As I keep repeating and you keep ignoring, you are the _crown prince_. If anything should happen to you—”

“Yes, yes, the world as we know it will end,” Arthur muttered, waving Godfrey off. Out of the corner of his eye, Godfrey saw Merlin roll his eyes.

“I would also strongly encourage the two of you not to wander off as well,” Godfrey said to Merlin and Gwen. “Considering that you both can identify this man Hephastian. And he probably knows it.”

Arthur looked alarmed at that. “D’you think they should have escorts too?”

Leon frowned. “Milord, not that I don’t care for the safety of Merlin and Gwen, but we don’t have the manpower to protect all four of you.”

“Nonsense. There’re more than enough knights.”

“I’m afraid you and the Lady Morgana will require at least four knights apiece,” Godfrey said briskly, ignoring the outraged spluttering of his prince. “If they work on rotating shifts of eight hours each, that will leave only Leon free.”

“But—but— _four_ knights? Each? That’s overkill, that is! I won’t be able to walk anywhere without tripping over one of them.”

“That’s rather the idea,” Godfrey replied dryly.

“You know, I’ve been in loads of dangerous situations before, and I’ve managed not to get myself killed,” Arthur said heatedly. “I travel by myself _all the time_ without knights.”

“I’ve heard tell,” Godfrey said. “But all of those times, _I_ wouldn’t have been held responsible if anything were to happen to you. I like my head. I’d like to keep it on my shoulders. And if that means I have to chain myself to you for the remainder of these negotiations until you go home, I’ll do it.”

Arthur opened his mouth to reply but was forestalled by the Lady Morgana, speaking for the first time. “Oh, leave off it, Arthur,” she snapped. “He’s just doing his job. Stop being such a spoiled bastard and _let him.”_

She returned her gaze to the window, pointedly ignoring the injured look her foster-brother sent her. Her handmaiden stirred, saying soothingly, “It’s been a long, stressful night. Perhaps we should all get some rest?”

Godfrey smiled at the girl, who smiled a little wanly back. “An excellent suggestion. We can talk further tomorrow about identifying the person or persons behind this whole mess. Sir Leon, I shall leave you in charge of organizing the knights’ rotations. Good night to you all.” He bowed to the prince and the king’s ward, and then exited to his own chambers, breathing out bracingly as he went.

*

Morgana rose immediately after Leon and Godfrey left, announcing her intention to go directly to bed. She took Gwen with her as she retired. Merlin glanced at Arthur, still sunk low into his chair and staring after the women with a distracted expression.

“If you won’t be needing me for anything…” Merlin began hopefully.

“Girls are the strangest creatures,” Arthur said musingly, eyes still focused on the now-closed door to Morgana’s chambers.

“Uh…indeed,” Merlin said, flashing back to Morgana’s unnatural stillness.

“Just when you think you’ve figured them out, they go and do something totally unexpected.”

Merlin sighed to himself. He knew he should ask what Arthur was going on about, but he couldn’t summon the energy to care at the moment. He felt utterly defenseless and exposed, as though he was standing naked in a huge crowd of people, who would immediately notice him and turn hostile once Morgana pointed it out. Deep down, Merlin knew that he probably deserved her wrath, Gaius’s reasoning be damned. The last thing she’d said to him before they’d started back to the palace was, _“How would you have felt, if it had been you instead of me?”_

Merlin hadn’t said anything. He hadn’t needed to: his face said it all.

 _“That’s what I thought,”_ she’d snarled, and stalked away from him.

*

The next morning, Gwen awoke burning with curiosity about who was behind the attacks. Unfortunately, Morgana was no more talkative than the night before, when broached about the subject during the morning’s dressing. Gwen found that Merlin, half-heartedly scrubbing something that at one point might have been a leather boot when she tracked him down in Arthur’s bedchamber, was similarly recalcitrant. She shook her head, frowning perplexedly, and went in search of Arthur.

The Crown Prince of Camelot was, for lack of a better word, hiding. She found him tucked away in an alcove, alternating between scowling down at the parchment in his hands and scowling fugitively round the corner.

“What are you doing?” she asked, hands on hips.

He jumped, and then relaxed when he saw it was her. “Blast it, Guinevere! Announce yourself, or something!”

She smirked at his expression. “Sorry. But really, what are you doing?”

He flushed a little and mumbled something. She was only able to catch the words “knights,” “avoiding,” and “bloody Godfrey,” but that was enough to get the general idea.

“I wanted to talk about last night,” she said, raising one brow as Arthur peeped around the corner again. He stopped mid-peep, looking back at her defensively.

“Hey, _you_ kissed _me_!”

She blinked. “Oh. No. I don’t care about that—”

“You don’t?”

“No, I mean—”

“I thought you enjoyed it?”

“Of course, I just—Look. That is not what I wanted to talk to you about.” She huffed in annoyance. “Does no one but me care that there seems to be a group of people who are intent on killing or otherwise injuring you?”

“As a matter of fact, I do,” Godfrey said unexpectedly as he rounded the corner. Gwen and Arthur both jumped.

“Bloody hell!” Arthur exclaimed. “Will people stop doing that?”

Godfrey gave him a withering look. “Perhaps if you spent less time skulking in alcoves and hiding from your protection…”

Arthur glared back. Gwen sighed. “Lord Godfrey, do you have any ideas?”

“Several. None of which can be discussed in the hallway,” he replied pointedly.

“Well, let’s round up Morgana and Merlin and have a proper caucus,” Arthur said. He motioned to Gwen to precede him, placing a hand briefly on her back to usher her forward. Gwen saw Godfrey’s eyebrows quirk as he noted the touch; heat rising in her face, she moved forward. Fortunately, Godfrey said nothing, merely followed them as they headed toward Arthur’s chambers.

*

Morgana spent the morning in a constant state of abstraction. She’d dreamed the night before of Merlin. His pale face had filled her dream-mind, eyes changing from black to gold to black again as he spoke ancient words of magic in the old language. She saw griffins and sidhe and a beautiful woman, black-haired and robed in red, and a familiar shield with entwined snakes that hissed and sprang to life. There were flashes of other creatures and more people she didn’t recognize, and when she awoke, Morgana wondered how much of what she had seen was just the conjuring of her mind, and how much _(snakes on a shield spring to life in front of Arthur)_ must have been real.

She’d never dreamed of the past before. As Merlin had noted, her dreams had always been of a future that could be. She was a Seer, of that Morgana was certain; and now, having seen these glimpses of Merlin working magic in other times, she wondered what else she could become. It was as though learning the truth about Merlin had somehow opened up the floodgates to her own powers because she could _feel_ magic, everywhere.

In a place as magically-repressed as Camelot, she’d only ever felt the occasional twinge or shiver, and had always written that off to a draft in the room or a spasm of some sort. But in Iskandara, where magic was used, casually and every day, she could feel it, tingling over her skin and sliding through her hair. She wondered if Merlin felt it.

She wondered if other people felt it.

*

“Morgana isn’t in her chambers,” Gwen reported. “Merlin, have you seen her?”

Her friend shook his head vigorously. “Not since—last night.”

Arthur frowned in irritation, but then shrugged. “Leon, could you send a knight after her? She can’t be hard to miss: her protection is gone as well. We’ll just have to start without her, in the meantime.”

The knight nodded, going to speak to someone in the antechamber.

“Now, where were we?” Arthur said, plopping down into a chair. Gwen had noticed that he always seemed to be leaning against something, or sprawling across a chair, or pacing. Such was the nature of Arthur’s physical presence that he couldn’t help but take over whatever space he inhabited, drawing the eye with the distinct curve of his jaw, the breadth of his shoulders, the strength in his hands, which could never remain still. It had something to do with being the only son of a powerful king, and being used to the expectation that everyone was looking at him anyway.

Gwen mentally shook herself and looked away. Merlin had been standing restlessly, and she moved to draw him down next to her on a long wooden bench. Leon reentered just as Godfrey said, “So. There have been three attempts to injure you, my lord: the blow dart attempt, the cut girth, and last night. These attempts seem to be escalating, given the sheer amount of men sent after you.”

“Umar seems well pleased with the negotiations so far,” Arthur said. “What does he gain by killing me?”

“I don’t know,” Godfrey replied. “It’s not territory: Camelot is too far away for him to try and invade.”

“Is there any ill-will between him and King Uther?” Merlin asked.

Arthur shook his head. “Not that I’m aware. Godfrey?”

The ambassador frowned, rubbing one hand over his balding pate. “No…Camelot and Iskandara historically haven’t ever interacted very much.”

“Would…” Merlin hesitated. “Would Umar have any opinion on Uther’s ban against magic?”

Godfrey’s brows went up at that. “If he does, I can’t imagine it’s strong enough to warrant killing Uther’s son.”

Gwen thought back to her conversation the day before with Merlin. “What about other sorcerers? Arthur’s not nearly as well-protected here as he is in Camelot. Perhaps someone’s using this trip away from home as an opportunity.”

Arthur pursed his lips, considering this. “That’s certainly possible.”

“But what about the blacksmith’s guild?” Merlin objected. “Why would sorcerers involve them?”

“We don’t know that the entire guild is involved,” Godfrey cautioned. “It could just be that Hephastian, and possibly the blow-dart assassin, are members.”

“So who were the rest of those men?” Arthur said, and then answered himself. “Hired mercenary assassin types, most likely. And cut-rate, at that.”

“How did they know we were going to be out last night at all?” Gwen asked.

“The bloody back door,” Merlin said, shaking his head. “Someone must have spotted you or me, or both of us, outside of the guild headquarters.”

“That part confuses me,” Leon said. “If they recognized either of you and knew that you two could identify them, why didn’t they get rid of you right then?”

“Cut-rate,” Arthur repeated. “Someone’s trying to save money somewhere, and so they hired shoddy assassins. Besides, if I’m _really_ the target and anything happened to you, it would be much harder to then get at me afterward.”

“I still don’t understand why members of the blacksmith’s guild or even just Hephastian would want Arthur dead,” Gwen mused. “Merchants usually aren’t in favor of conflict: it disrupts trade.”

“Unless your trade is in conflict,” Merlin said slowly. “Think about it. Iskandara only has a smallish army remaining from their civil war days. If they were to go to war with, say, Camelot, Umar would need to outfit a great many men with weapons and armor.”

“So…they kill me, blame it on…someone, hope that my father becomes enraged enough that he doesn’t ask any questions and instead directly declares war, and also hope that Umar, instead of trying to resolve the issue peacefully, just blindly meets him in battle?” Arthur said, his face full of skepticism. “That is the worst bloody plan I have ever heard.”

“That settles it,” Godfrey said decisively. “There’s no way Umar is behind this, or even aware of it. There’s also no way his merchants would think Umar could be so easily manipulated: he’s been on the throne for twenty years. They _know_ he would never fall for something like this.”

After a moment, Arthur said, “Umar wouldn’t. But _Akbar_ is another story.”

They all stared at one another. “Well, damn,” Godfrey finally pronounced.

Gwen agreed.

*

The Great Library of Iskandara was famous throughout the known world. The current king’s great-grandfather had decided that the best remedy to healing the wounds inflicted by the civil war was to create a place where all Iskandarans could come together in peace and learn from each other and from the wisdom of men and women who had come before them. The library itself was built around a central, open courtyard, ringed by enclosed cloisters housing volume upon volume. Stone tables lined up in neat rows down the courtyard, and the lack of rain in Iskandara meant that it could be used nearly year-round.

It was here, perched on a bench and slowly unspooling a scroll of soft vellum, that Morgana found Helene. She must have had the morning off, as she was not dressed for court, and her hair, casually bound, threatened to spill free at any moment. Morgana took a minute to study the other woman, before telling her escort to wait in the cloisters and moving forward across the courtyard to take a seat opposite her.

Helene glanced up, her face opening in pleased surprise. “Why, Lady Morgana! What brings you here?” She took a closer look at Morgana, and a worry line drew itself across her forehead. “Are you all right? You don’t look very well.”

Morgana shook her head, as though to clear it. “I didn’t sleep well last night.”

“I am sorry to hear it.”

“I had such dreams…” Morgana gave a little laugh, more to herself than anything. “I always have such dreams.”

Helene said gently, “Lady Morgana—”

“Please, just Morgana.”

Helene smiled at that. “Very well. Morgana, I am not sure what you are talking about, but know that if there is anything I can do to help…”

“There is something, actually,” Morgana said, looking round to check on the knights tasked to her protection. They were still standing awkwardly in the cloisters, within shouting distance, but Morgana was reasonably certain they couldn’t overhear her. Helene followed her gaze.

“That’s an awful lot of swords to carry around with you,” she said, eyes sharp.

Morgana shrugged. “Lord Godfrey is rather tightly wound.”

“Ah,” Helene replied. “Any particular reason why?”

She shrugged again. “You would be, too, if Arthur was your responsibility.” Helene nodded, obviously letting the subject drop.

“I take it Arthur’s safety is not the reason you are unable to sleep.”

“Do you have magic?” Morgana asked bluntly. The other woman frowned.

“A little. Not as much as the court sorcerers, of course. Why?”

Morgana blinked at the straightforward response. Then she looked down, laughing shortly at herself. She’d expected shock or unease, forgetting that in Iskandara, magic was nothing particularly out of the way. Helene seemed to read her thoughts. “It was never practiced as often here as it was in the north. But Umar is certainly no Uther. He has a little magic, himself. The Queen has more. And Amil, of course.”

There was something in Helene’s voice that made Morgana look at her more closely. “But not Akbar?”

“…I’m not sure,” Helene said slowly. “I’ve never personally seen him practice magic. People have said he has.”

“But you don’t believe it.”

Helene lifted one shoulder uncomfortably. “I suspect that if he had none, he would be more hostile towards those who do.”

Morgana narrowed her eyes, considering. “Maybe he is—in private. It wouldn’t do for him to be open about it, if the rest of his family has magic. It’d come off as a weakness, otherwise.”

Helene leaned back on the stone bench, staring at Morgana. “Why this sudden fixation on Akbar?”

“No reason,” Morgana answered, looking at her levelly.

Helene cocked an eyebrow. “Really. There was a disturbance in the city last night. Multiple reports of fighting in the streets, and this morning, half a dozen men were found dead.”

“How tragic,” Morgana murmured.

Helene glared at her. “You have bruising all up and down your wrists and forearms, and you said yourself you didn’t get much sleep last night.”

“…I like to keep up my swordwork,” Morgana said, a little desperately. “I practice with the knights.”

Helene snorted derisively. “Where? In your rooms? I’ve practiced sword fighting myself, and I’ve never gotten marks like that.”

“It’s true,” Morgana insisted, making to rise. “Forgive me, but I must go.”

“Why’d you ask if I have magic?” Helene challenged. “Is it because you think you do?”

Morgana halted. Then she looked at Helene, face full of anguish. “No,” she whispered.

“Then what—?” Helene asked, bewildered.

Morgana swallowed. “I know I have magic,” she said in a stronger voice.

Helene shook her head. “I don’t understand.”

Morgana stood fully. “That’s the problem. I _know_ I have. And because of that, I don’t know if I can ever go home again.”

*

“It’s all conjecture,” Merlin muttered, running a hand through his hair.

“Pretty convincing conjecture, if you know Akbar,” Arthur said to his manservant. “All he’s ever wanted is someone to fight.”

The door opened, and Morgana slipped in. She stopped in her tracks when she saw all of them. “Where have you been?” Arthur demanded.

She frowned at him. “In the Great Library.”

“Well, I wanted you,” Arthur grumbled.

She rolled her eyes at him. “Arthur, it is not my job to come running whenever you call.”

Arthur opened his mouth to retort but Gwen said quickly, “Milady, we were just discussing who might be behind these attacks.”

Arthur closed his mouth and glanced at Gwen as Godfrey said, “There are indications that some group is trying to manipulate a conflict between Iskandara and Camelot.” He explained quickly, concluding with the postulations about Akbar.

“There’s another thing,” Morgana said slowly. “Akbar is the only member of the Royal family without magic.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Arthur saw Merlin sit down. Godfrey asked, interested, “Now, how did you find _that_ out?”

“One of the Queen’s ladies-in-waiting,” Morgana said briefly. “Given the type of man Akbar is, I’d guess that he wouldn’t like being the only member of his family without magic.”

Godfrey sighed. “That would make it easier to alienate Akbar from his family, simply by highlighting all of the differences between them.”

“But wouldn’t that make him _more_ amenable to dealing with Camelot,” Merlin said, “given Uther’s own stand on magic?” Morgana subjected him to a long scrutiny, and he flushed. Arthur smirked and made a mental note to question his manservant again regarding his feelings for Morgana.

“That’s initially what I thought,” Morgana said coolly, “but I honestly don’t think Akbar is sophisticated enough to consider it. He doesn’t care about statecraft. All he wants is someone to fight.”

“That’s exactly what I just said,” Arthur said approvingly. Morgana raised a brow but said nothing.

“So…what now?” Leon asked, looking around the room. “We don’t have any real proof.”

“We need to find Hephastian, and make him talk,” Arthur said.

“I’d imagine he’s gone to ground now, Sire,” Leon said. “He’s not going to risk being identified by Merlin or Gwen.”

“I rather think you’re right,” Arthur said heavily.

“Well,” Gwen said hesitantly, “couldn’t we just…manufacture a reason to ask after him? Perhaps he cheated Merlin and me, yesterday at the bazaar? We could complain to the king, and demand some sort of recompense.”

“Huh,” Arthur said thoughtfully. “It probably wouldn’t be enough to find him, but it gives us the excuse we need to learn more about the man.” He grinned at Gwen, who smiled back.

“Milord, would you like me to lodge the complaint?” Godfrey asked. At Arthur’s nod, the ambassador said, “I won’t go directly to the king; no sense in jeopardizing the negotiations. Loren, the trade minister, should suffice. What do you want to be cheated out of?”

“Maybe a sword?” Gwen suggested. “Or several. The man _is_ a blacksmith.”

“What if Loren asks to see the sword?” Arthur asked.

“We’ll say that Merlin and I paid him yesterday, and were meant to pick up the swords today,” Gwen responded. “When we went to the bazaar, Hephastian wasn’t there.”

“That was mighty foolish of you,” Arthur said lightly. “Paying before you received the swords.”

She grinned up at him. “Well, Lord Godfrey should be sure to emphasize that we are just two foolish servants who know better now.”

Godfrey nodded, rising. “That could work. Would you mind walking with me and describing the swords you remember from his stall? The more specific we can be, the better.”

Arthur rose to go with them, quirking an eyebrow at Merlin. “You coming? Properly shame-faced?”

Merlin nodded. “I’ll be right there.” As Arthur left after Gwen and Godfrey, he heard Merlin say, “Morgana, can I have a word—?”

*

“Unfortunately, there are merchants who have no problem taking advantage of unsophisticated buyers,” Loren said, slightly emphasizing the word “unsophisticated.” Godfrey tried not to roll his eyes. The Iskandaran Minister for Trade believed that any city which did not have a thriving economy was hopelessly backwater, and the people from that city essentially rubes. It was partially why Godfrey had gone to the man; the tale he was spinning would be all the more believable to Loren since it played into the minister’s preexisting notions about the world.

He was, however, a good minister, and would do his best to track down Hephastian, if only because cheating merchants were bad for business. Godfrey said gravely, “I have given the two servants a little lecture on the subject. I can assure you that they will never be so stupid in the future.”

“Good,” Loren said repressively. He went over to a cabinet and opened the delicate wooden screen. Within, Godfrey could see stacks of ledgers, neatly organized. Loren ran a considering finger across the spines before pulling one out and returning to his desk. “Let’s see here. Hephastian, member of the blacksmith’s guild. Ah, yes. According to my records, he petitioned the guild for membership nearly five years ago. Hmm.” Loren read on, silently, his brows going up slightly.

“What?” Godfrey asked.

“Oh, it just says here that Lord Tarek himself was his sponsor.” Loren frowned at Godfrey. “This man is friends with some powerful people. Are you sure it was him?”

“Oh,” Godfrey said, feigning uncertainty. “In that case, I am not sure. It’s possible they were mistaken about his identity.”

“Check again,” Loren said. “I find it highly unlikely that a blacksmith who outfits the crown prince’s inner circle would bother trying to cheat some servants out of a few coins.”

*

Godfrey’s prince was waiting for him in a small, shaded courtyard. He was talking to the handmaiden, Gwen, his attention fixed entirely upon her smiling, upturned face. Sir Leon and the rest of the knights were standing off to the side a little, talking amongst themselves and obviously giving the two some space. Godfrey sighed to himself. While Arthur didn’t seem to treat any of his servants with the distance one would expect from royalty—and that Merlin fellow was a perfect example—Godfrey knew enough of the signs to recognize that Arthur’s interest in the girl extended beyond simple friendship.

Well, it wasn’t uncommon for a noble to take a fancy to the odd servant girl and bed her. At any rate, it certainly wasn’t going to be Godfrey’s problem. He only hoped that the Lady Morgana, when she noticed, wouldn’t pitch too big of a fit.

“Well?” Arthur asked, tearing his attention away from Gwen as Godfrey approached. Leon left the circle of knights and joined them.

“Lord Tarek was Hephastian’s sponsor into the guild,” Godfrey said by way of answer.

Arthur whistled. “Well, that answers the question of the guild’s involvement.”

“Who’s Lord Tarek?” Gwen asked.

“The president of the blacksmith’s guild. And a member of Umar’s council.”

“From what Godfrey’s told me,” Arthur added, “he’s notoriously controlling. If he was Hephastian’s initial sponsor, he probably still keeps tabs on the man, even now.”

“So, no rogue guild member, then?” Leon said, looking sober.

Godfrey shook his head. “It’s unlikely. Loren also told me that Hephastian supplies armor and weapons to Akbar and his friends.”

“Well, Tarek’s son is one of Akbar’s acolytes,” Arthur said. “Although this makes me wonder who really is the leader, and who is the led.”

“What’s the son’s name?” Leon asked.

“Caldor. You remember him from the lion hunt.”

“The one who was thrown when the lion ran past?”

“The very one.”

“He doesn’t like being made into a fool,” Leon said.

“Yes, I’d noticed that.”

“He also didn’t seem too happy when you and Merlin switched horses. And come to think of it, Akbar didn’t blink an eye.”

“Hmm. That points more and more to Akbar’s level of involvement. Goes to illustrate what you’d said about merchants trying to manipulate people,” Arthur said to Godfrey, who nodded in agreement.

“What now?” Gwen asked.

“Well, now we have to figure out how to make it through the next several days without Prince Arthur getting killed or any wars breaking out,” Godfrey replied. “And without doing anything to jeopardize the negotiations and tip Umar off to the fact that his son is an idiot with murderous friends.”

Arthur laughed. “Nope, shouldn’t be difficult at all.”

*

Returning to their chambers ahead of Arthur, who’d been waylaid by some Iskandaran noble, Gwen opened the door to Morgana’s rooms and froze. Morgana stood in the center of the room, her hair blown back from her face and a shimmering ball of blue fire burning in the center of her outstretched palm. Merlin was backed against the wall, his own face unreadable.

As Gwen took in the scene, something shifted inside of her, as though a puzzle she’d been unconsciously trying to work out had finally fallen into place. Her mind flashed over all the sleepless nights, the unexplained dreams, the instant affinity with that druid boy. She looked at her mistress, and her stomach clenched in pity. Morgana’s face was heartbreaking in its unrestrained joy as she contemplated the magic swirling in her hand; she hadn’t looked so recklessly happy in months.

Neither Morgana nor Merlin had noticed her, so intent were they both on the blue ball of light. Knowing that the others would soon be entering, Gwen shut the door behind her, deliberately.

Merlin jumped and Morgana gasped, her face going blank with shock. The ball of light wavered, flashed brightly, and then disappeared into the ether.

“Gwen!”

“Arthur is on his way back,” Gwen said briskly. “Merlin, he’ll surely be wanting you. Milady, your hair…” She motioned to her own hair, making no move to go to Morgana.

Morgana flushed. She brought up a hand, smoothing the wild black strands down. Gwen nodded, staying where she was.

“Gwen,” Merlin tried again. The sounds of a door opening and boots clattering across stone in the outer chamber forestalled him.

“Merlin!” Arthur’s voice called. “Merlin! Where the devil are you?”

Merlin glanced at Morgana, who was still staring mutely at Gwen. Then he crossed the room and went out, shutting the door behind him. Arthur said something, and Merlin responded. A cupboard banged open, there was more talking, and then the footsteps trooped out and silence fell.

Gwen said, very quietly, “Milady. What are you going to do?”

Morgana’s lips twisted. “Before, you would have said ‘What are we going to do?’”

Gwen looked at her mistress levelly. “I do not have any magic.” Morgana made a small, helpless gesture with her hands. “I didn’t ask for this, Gwen.”

“I know.”

“Then why are you looking at me like you don’t know me?”

Gwen sighed. “Your face, just now. You looked—you were looking at that ball like it was the keys to paradise.”

Morgana said, “It is, for me. In a way.”

“And that’s what worries me. I don’t have any magic,” Gwen repeated. “This isn’t something I can ever hope to understand.”

Morgana said, “Magic’s just another skill, Gwen.”

“No, it isn’t,” Gwen replied. “It can hurt people.”

Morgana’s gaze softened. “You’re thinking of Tom.”

“My father would still be alive if it weren’t for sorcerers,” Gwen said.

“ _Uther_ had your father killed,” Morgana said sharply. “If it weren’t for his hatred of magic—”

“That man was corrupted by the power he could get from magic.”

“ _I’m_ not like that! I wouldn’t use magic to hurt people!”

 _“How do I know?”_ Gwen asked. Morgana stepped backwards as though she’d been slapped. “Magic seduces people, Morgana. We’ve seen it time and time again. I want to believe you. I want to believe that you wouldn’t be changed, and that you’d use it only to help people.”

“I’d never do anything to hurt you,” Morgana said, twisting her hands in the beautiful fabric of her gown. In the back of her mind, the servant in Gwen winced at the wrinkles spreading across the material.

“I don’t believe you would. Not consciously. But again, the way you were looking at that ball…” Gwen trailed off, remembering. “People kill for the things magic can give them. All the time. They destroy countless lives pursuing it.”

“Magic is no different than greed or a thirst for power,” Morgana returned. “In the wrong hands, of course it’s dangerous; but don’t you see that it can be used for good as well?”

“Think back over the last year,” Gwen said. “How many times have sorcerers or magicians tried to bring down Camelot?”

“They were trying to bring down _Uther_ ,” Morgana said heatedly. “Which, given what he’s done to people with magic, is hardly surprising. Look around you, Gwen. Do you see this kind of strife in Iskandara?”

“The royal family,” Gwen began.

“Considering Akbar’s personality, I rather think that _any_ difference between him and the rest of his family could have been used to set him against them.”

Gwen sank down on a trunk, the fight leaching out of her. She didn’t know why she had even bothered to argue. Morgana stood before her: Gwen knew the way she brushed her hair, the way she liked her breakfast, the decisive way she walked, the way she would stick on certain issues, like a burr on cloth. She’d seen Morgana nearly every day for the last ten years. Nothing had changed. Everything had changed.

“What are you going to do about Uther?” she asked, wearily.

Morgana blinked at the sudden change in direction. “I don’t know.”

“Do you think he’d punish you?”

Her mistress gave a short laugh. “Gwen. He’s killed people who’ve barely been accused of magic. For me to confirm that I actually _have_ it…”

“But he loves you.”

“Don’t you think that will make it worse?”

Gwen paused, considering. “Probably. Yes. Morgana, it’d destroy him.”

Morgana tilted her head. She looked as though that possibility had never occurred to her.

“Morgana…” Gwen said slowly, distrusting the look on her face.

“No,” Morgana said, and then: “You’re right,” even though Gwen hadn’t actually voiced aloud the thought running through both of their minds. “There’s no guarantee that he won’t just kill me in a fit of rage.”

Gwen’s face must have shown some of the horror she felt, because Morgana said quickly, “I wouldn’t actually do it, Gwen.”

“I didn’t realize you hated him so much,” Gwen said.

“I—I don’t, not exactly. But his paranoia is devastating Camelot. Surely I don’t have to convince _you_ of that.”

Gwen looked away uncomfortably. “Of course not. But he’s been like a father to you, Morgana.”

“So, I should just let him grow old and continue on with his witch hunts and persecutions, for _years_ to come?” Morgana asked. “What would you have me do, Gwen?”

“Work on Arthur,” Gwen replied. “He can be the king Camelot needs. And he’ll listen to you. You can convince him not to follow in his father’s footsteps. But he needs more time. He’s not yet ready.”

“And in the meantime?”

Gwen shrugged, a little helplessly. “I don’t know,” she admitted. “Use your position and your connections to ease the suffering of people hunted by Uther. Mitigate the damage where you can.”

Morgana smiled slightly. “I’d have never taken you for a revolutionary, Gwen.”

“I’m not,” Gwen said. “But I believe in a peaceful Camelot.”

Morgana crossed the room in swift strides, sinking down beside Gwen on the trunk. She took Gwen’s hands tightly. “That’s what I want, too. To live in a place where people like me don’t live in fear of the knock on the door that signals soldiers arriving to throw them in prison. To live in a place where your friends won’t have to lie to you, or your birthright isn’t kept from you.”

Gwen blinked. “Who lied to you?”

Morgana’s face cleared. “Nobody.” But Gwen’s mind was already filling with the image of Merlin, pressed up against the wall, watching the blue ball of magic. She exhaled explosively.

_“Merlin!”_


	3. Chapter 3

“There’s one thing I don’t understand,” Merlin said quietly, striding alongside Arthur.

His prince raised a brow. “Only one? I’m astounded, Merlin.” The hallway stretched before them, and servants and nobles passed through intersecting corridors into other parts of the palace, chatting and calling to one another.

Merlin made a face, before saying, “It’s fairly clear that Akbar doesn’t actually know what Caldor and Tarek are ultimately after. He likes you. It’s obvious. And I don’t think he’s a good enough actor to pull off pretending he doesn’t know that you’re a target. He’s too emotional and flighty for that kind of deception.”

Arthur shrugged. “Caldor and Tarek could just be conditioning him: ‘Oh, Akbar, you’re such a good fighter. You’d be the perfect leader in battle. You’re just what Iskandara needs should the worst happen.’ And then, of course, when I’m conveniently killed, war breaks out and Umar…” Arthur trailed off, slowing down and turning to face Merlin. The knights flanking them stumbled to a stop, confused.

“Exactly,” Merlin said. He checked the hallway for any passersby before lowering his voice even further. “What about Umar? The plan doesn’t work if he’s still king.”

Arthur rubbed a hand over his mouth, thinking. “Bloody hell, we’re slow! They must be trying for him as well as me. It’s the only thing that makes sense.”

“Nothing in this plan makes particular sense,” Merlin muttered. “But you’re right. We need to find out for certain.”

“Morgana,” Arthur said. Merlin blinked, keeping his face neutral. Arthur rolled his eyes at him. “Remember? She said she’d found out some information from one of the queen’s ladies-in-waiting? I wonder if she could find out more.”

“Ah,” Merlin said. Arthur wagged a finger at him, grinning. “Direction, finally!” He spun around and started heading back to his chambers. The knights trailed after them, resigned.

“Wait! What about your appointments?” Merlin called.

“Those can wait!” Arthur shouted over his shoulder. “Tell Godfrey I’ll be along in a moment, will you?”

“So he’ll yell at me instead?” Merlin mumbled but Arthur was gone.

*

Arthur bounded into Morgana’s chambers. “Morgana, I need you to—what’s wrong?” He looked from Morgana, seated on a trunk with her hands clenched together, to Gwen, standing in silhouette against the window with her arms wrapped round herself. Arthur couldn’t make out Gwen’s face, but he could see the tension in the line of her body.

“Oh—nothing,” she said quickly.

“Really?”

“Yes,” she said, her voice gaining strength. “I—I think the stress of the last day has just caught up to me, is all.” Arthur frowned. That didn’t sound like the Guinevere he knew, but he didn’t have time at the moment to pursue it further.

“Well, all right, then. Morgana, I need you to do something for me.” He outlined his suspicions regarding Umar. “Do you think that lady-in-waiting might know more?”

Morgana’s brows quirked. “It’s certainly possible. She seems to know a lot about what’s going on.” An odd expression passed momentarily over her face.

“I think I’ll just…go find Merlin,” Gwen said swiftly. She passed by Arthur and Morgana without looking at either of them, exiting before Arthur could say anything. He and Morgana paused for a moment, watching Gwen leave.

“Well,” Morgana said. “I’m off to find Lady Helene.” She sounded bright but Arthur could hear the strain running underneath. He watched the second woman in as many minutes walk away from him, and wondered why everyone around him seemed so tense. “After all,” he muttered to himself, “ _I’m_ the one they keep trying to kill.”

*

Merlin was heading back to their rooms to find Arthur, Godfrey’s remonstrations still ringing in his ears (“Part of the plan is to continue acting like _nothing is amiss!_ He can’t start skipping out on meetings _now!”_ ), when he ran headfirst into Gwen, rounding a corner as though the dogs of war were on her tail.

She immediately began apologizing until she realized it was him, and then, eyes narrowed to slits, she grabbed him by the elbow and dragged him out into a courtyard.

“Gwen, ow!”

“Be _quiet_ ,” she snapped, pulling him along. When they were far enough away from the palace walls, she wheeled on him abruptly.

“I take it Morgana told you, then,” he said as she opened her mouth.

She closed her mouth again, glared at him, and then said, “Yes. Well, not exactly. She didn’t mean to. That’s not the point. You lied to me, Merlin, for _months_. I thought we were friends! Why didn’t you tell me?”

Merlin snorted. “Tell you what? That I have magic? When the hell could I have told you that? ‘Hi, Gwen, the name’s Merlin, I’m from Ealdor and oh, by the way, I’m a sorcerer?’ Or, ‘Gwen, sorry ‘bout your dad, I know sorcerers framed him, guess what, I’m one too?’ Or—”

“Shut up,” she said angrily, grabbing on to his hands. “Just, shut up, I _know_ it was an impossible situation for you, I can imagine what it must have been like—”

“No, you can’t,” Merlin snapped back, his own temper rising. “Try living in constant fear that you’re going to be discovered and pledging fealty to a king whom you know in your gut is dead wrong on pretty much everything. Try fighting other magical beings who really only want similar things as you do, and hiding the fact that magic is what has saved Camelot time and time again. Trying living in a place where people _hate_ you, and where your best friends would surely turn on you if they knew the truth. Do you think you can _imagine_ all that, Gwen?”

All the anger seemed to have left her, and in its place was only a great sorrow. “I am so sorry, Merlin. Why did you stay?”

He sighed, moving over to a limestone bench and dropping wearily down onto it. “For Arthur. For you, and Morgana. For the future I believe Camelot deserves. Sometimes, I don’t know why.”

Gwen joined him on the bench, nudging his shoulder sympathetically. “It must have been terrible for you, with no one to confide in.”

He sent her a wan half-smile. “It wasn’t all bad, you know. We’ve had some good times; remember that stupid hat? And I wasn’t totally alone. Gaius knows.”

Gwen’s brows went up at that. “Really? And Morgana?”

Merlin winced. “Morgana…found out last night. It was an accident.”

“Ah,” Gwen said, understanding.

Merlin ran his hands through his hair, huffing out a breath. “God, it feels like a million years ago. But she was…not pleased.”

“I wish you could have felt that I could be trusted,” Gwen said. “I could have been there for you, too.”

“It wasn’t a matter of trusting you or not, Gwen,” Merlin replied. “It was too great a risk, for anybody. And you’ve known Morgana, and Arthur, for a long time. Much longer than you’ve known me.”

“Sod them both,” Gwen said pleasantly. “You’re my friend, and I love you. Your secret is safe with me.”

“Thank you,” Merlin said, linking his hand through Gwen’s and squeezing tightly. “You don’t know how much that means to me.”

Gwen grinned at him lopsidedly. “Well, I already put Morgana through the wringer regarding magic usage. To do so with you now would just be redundant.”

“Where is Morgana?”

She shrugged. “I left her with Arthur. Speaking of…”

“I know.”

“You have to tell him, Merlin. He can’t find out on his own like I did, and Morgana.”

“Yeah, ‘cause unlike the two of you, _he_ actually has the power to take my head off.”

Gwen gave him a chiding look. “Actually,” Merlin said musingly, “once Morgana’s powers develop, there’s no telling what devious punishments she’ll devise.”

“Merlin…”

“I’m afraid, Gwen,” he said a little helplessly. “He’s his father’s son.”

“Yes,” Gwen replied. “But you have to give him the chance to become his own man.”

“I know. You don’t have to tell me that. I know what he’s capable of becoming: a king worthy of Camelot.” Merlin hesitated, thinking. “I think that’s partially why I can’t tell him. What if he _does_ react like his father? What if he doesn’t live up to the expectations I have for him?”

“What if he ends up disappointing you?” Gwen supplied quietly.

“Yes. I don’t know what I think would be worse.”

“You know him,” she said. “Better than practically anyone. What does your heart tell you?”

Merlin rubbed at his eyes wearily. “That I need to learn to trust people some time.”

Gwen said nothing, but sat with him in companionable silence. Finally, Merlin made a dismissing motion in a physical attempt to calm his swirling thoughts. He said, “Well, it’s all irrelevant if Arthur gets himself killed in the next few days, anyhow. Think Uther would make me his manservant?”

Gwen made a horrified face at him, and he laughed aloud, jumping to his feet and offering down a hand to pull her up. He slung a casual arm around her shoulder, squeezing once. “I rather think the two of us deserve some sort of reward if we make it through this with diplomatic relations intact. What say you to a barony, my lady?” He gave an elaborate bow and she giggled. “I’ve always been partial to a duchy, myself.”

“Why, your Grace,” Gwen responded, mimicking his affected accent. “I think a duchy would suit you just fine.”

Arm in arm, they headed back to the palace.

*

Arthur spent the rest of the afternoon in a haze of meetings. He was grateful for Godfrey keeping him on track, and wondered exactly what it would take to ruffle the man.

“This is nothing,” Godfrey said casually. “Once, in Orkney, I had to conduct a three-way peace treaty without the Earls ever having to be in the same room. They all had sworn blood oaths to kill each other on sight.”

“I didn’t know Camelot had any diplomatic leverage in Orkney,” Arthur said, interested.

“We didn’t. Our neutrality made us an attractive mediator. Of course, had your father known just how dicey the situation was, I rather think he wouldn’t have bothered offering to help.”

Godfrey fell silent, and Arthur followed his gaze. Approaching them down the hall was Lord Tarek. He was an unusually pale man for the region, with sandy brown hair and skin that surely burned regularly in the hot desert sun. He was also extremely tall, dwarfing even Leon, whom Arthur could feel moving up protectively behind him. Tarek’s shoulders, heavily muscled, seemed out of proportion on his lanky frame; and Arthur realized that this was a man who didn’t just play the political side of being the blacksmith guild’s president, but who also actively practiced the art.

Tarek bowed low before saying, “My lord, I was informed by Loren that your servants were cheated out of some business by one of my guild members?”

“Uh,” said Arthur. Godfrey said swiftly, “They were foolish servants, sire, and have been reprimanded for their blunder.”

“But the merchant who cheated them was a guild member?” Tarek pressed, his eyes moving between Arthur and Godfrey.

Arthur affected a careless nonchalance. “Most likely they got taken in by a scam artist, and were too embarrassed to tell me the truth. My ambassador was just doing his job in reporting the alleged infraction to Minister Loren, but please, do not trouble yourself over it. I’ve forgotten the matter already.”

“Well, only if it pleases you, my lord,” Tarek said. “I should so hate to cause any offense to Camelot.”

“And Camelot has no reason to take any,” Arthur replied smoothly. He nodded at Tarek and strode off without looking back. Once they’d rounded a corner and gone halfway down a hallway, Arthur said quietly, “He knows.”

“Oh, yes,” Godfrey agreed soberly. “He knows.”

*

Morgana finally found Helene coming down one of the grand, stone staircases. In the time since they’d last parted, Helene had dressed for court; Morgana blinked at the complicated, swirling knots of hair tied up in pearls and ribbons. Her dress was light blue, and crinkly, adorned with a silver brocade that appeared expensive. She stopped when she saw Morgana, smiling.

That smile vanished when Morgana said, “I need to speak to you. Privately.” Helene glanced around. There were a few courtiers and servants walking briskly through the area, but no one who could reasonably overhear them. When she pointed this out, Morgana shook her head. “It’s important.”

Helene nodded, her well-bred acquiescence masking any curiosity she might have felt, and led Morgana up the staircase and down a series of hallways, until they were in a part of the palace Morgana had never seen. Finally, she opened one door and ushered Morgana into a small apartment, elegantly furnished.

“Are these yours?” Morgana asked, indicating the rooms. Helene smiled in assent, and Morgana took a moment to look around. There was a table of dark, polished wood, flanked by two chairs, and a small canopied bed off to the side. A chaise, covered in red velvet, stood in front of some shelves that housed several books, scrolls, and various trinkets and knick-knacks from all over the known world.

“So,” Helene said, going to sit carefully on the edge of one chair. Her dress made a scrunching noise, and she absentmindedly tried to smooth it out. “What can I help you with?”

Morgana eyed the matching chair but made no move to go closer to the other woman. “This may sound…strange. Or suspicious, but you have to believe me when I say that I, and my friends, are only trying to stave off a political disaster.”

Helene’s eyes widened. “A disaster? Morgana, what are you talking about?”

“Has anything strange been happening around the royal family? Around the king, specifically?”

Helene tilted her head cautiously. “Why?”

Morgana hesitated, choosing her words carefully. “We think—we have reason to believe that someone has tried to harm him. And will continue to try until they succeed.”

“What sort of reasons?”

“You were right,” Morgana said. “About last night, and all of those men. They tried to kill Arthur. There have been several attempts since we got here.”

“You’re sure?” Helene asked, but before Morgana could respond, muttered, “No, of course you’re sure. Look at the bruising on your wrists, for pity’s sake.”

“We’ve managed to trace some of the people behind it,” Morgana continued. “They’re Iskandaran. And as far as we know, they’ve never had a quarrel with Arthur previously.”

“Then why would they want him dead?”

“To start a war with Camelot.” Seeing Helene’s incredulous face, Morgana held up one hand. “Please, let me finish.”

When she was done, Helene jumped up, agitated, and began pacing. “You know, this city has witnessed some truly astonishing moments, but starting a war, for profit! And to kill the _king_ …” She stopped abruptly, looking at Morgana. “I can’t believe that Akbar actually knows they intend to kill Umar. Akbar is a lot of things, but I don’t believe he’s capable of sanctioning the death of his father. He’s too—too—”

“Stupid? Foolish? Slow?” Morgana supplied.

Helene made a slight face. “Not exactly what I was thinking, but yes. I do believe that the possibility of his father’s death would not have occurred to him.”

“They should have beaten some sense into him at an early age,” Morgana complained.

Helene gave her a look. “I hardly think you, of all people, need a lecture on the fallibility of princes.”

“Hmm. True. So. What can you tell me? Have there been any similar attacks on Umar?” When Helene hesitated, Morgana said waspishly, “Helene, _please_. I’ve told you all I know.”

Helene sighed. “Very well. A few days before you arrived, the king and his men were out inspecting some of the new building that’s going up in the town. A roof collapsed, and it was only due to some quick thinking on behalf of several Royal Guardsmen that the king was able to escape with no more than a few minor scrapes and bruises. No one made anything of it, because it seemed like an accident.”

“But now you’re not so sure,” Morgana said.

Helene shook her head. “No. If there’s been anything else, I don’t know about it. I’m not in the king’s inner circle. The queen trusts me, but she wouldn’t betray her husband’s confidence.”

“All right,” Morgana said decisively. “Come with me. We need a council of war.”

*

“You weren’t supposed to tell her _everything_ ,” Arthur hissed.

Morgana rolled her eyes. “Don’t be such a stick in the mud, Arthur. We can trust her.”

“How do you know that?”

She hesitated. “I just—I _do_ , all right?”

Gwen watched the encounter narrowly. The Lady Helene was standing off to the side, tactfully pretending that she could not hear the argument. Despite her dusky skin, there’d been a faint raise of color along her throat as she’d heard Morgana’s words of support, and Gwen looked from her to Morgana suspiciously.

Unaware, Morgana and Arthur whispered furiously to one another for several more moments; then Morgana said something, and Arthur made a wordless sound of frustration before turning back to the center of the room. “Lady Helene,” he said pleasantly, as though he hadn’t just spent the last several minutes arguing about her presence. “We are grateful for any information you may be able to give us.” Behind him, Morgana grinned at her, and Gwen frowned.

Lady Helene inclined her head graciously. “I want war for Iskandara no more than you do.”

“Hmph,” Arthur said, with grudging approving, and told them about his encounter with Tarek.

Helene’s face darkened. “Tarek is ruthless,” she said bluntly. “And his son is even worse. I’ve no doubt they’re in complete control of the situation. You must be careful, my lord.”

“You’ll let us know if you hear of any other attempts?” Merlin asked. He was standing on the opposite side of the room from Morgana, carefully not looking at her. Gwen sighed and resolved to talk to her mistress.

Lady Helene nodded, and then looked apologetically at Morgana. “Forgive me, but I’m due to wait on the Queen this evening.”

“I’ll walk with you,” Morgana suggested, and Lady Helene’s face warmed at the offer. They left together, dark heads angled toward one another.

Gwen was distracted from her observations by Arthur saying, “Godfrey, just how much of an insult would it be if I skipped the feast tonight?”

Godfrey looked at him sternly. “That’s what I thought,” Arthur said glumly.

“Cheer up,” Merlin said, affecting a falsely bright tone. “Gwen told me there are going to be bards tonight.”

Arthur groaned. “Should we lay wagers on how many of the tales will be focused on Akbar’s exploits of alleged bravery and derring-do?”

“Personally,” Merlin said, “I’m hoping a few of them focus on _you_.”

Arthur buried his head in his hands.

*

To Merlin’s everlasting glee and Arthur’s mortification, several of the bards _did_ turn their talents to the Prince of Camelot’s illustrious career fighting off evil creatures. Most of it was completely fabricated, but that didn’t stop Merlin from committing to memory some particularly choice bits ( _“Oh, prince of the north/ so blue-eyed and fair/ with sinewy muscles/ and wheat-colored hair.... Oh, prince of the north/ so brave, honest, and true/ the ladies all love him/ and not a few men do, too”_ ) to hum whenever Arthur needed to be brought down a peg or two.

The hilarity over the bards notwithstanding, the rest of the feast proved to be an interminable affair, made all the worse by the knowledge that Tarek and his son Caldor were both watching them closely. Merlin heard Arthur mutter rebelliously to Godfrey, “They already know. Why do I have to pretend that I don’t?”

“Don’t do anything provocative,” Godfrey replied. “We don’t have any solid proof. We need to downplay our threat level to them.”

Merlin caught Arthur’s eye and shrugged sympathetically. Neither of them liked being forced to wait for the other side to make a move. “I need to _do_ something,” Arthur growled. Morgana, seated next to him, snapped, “Control yourself, Arthur. This is difficult for all of us.”

Miraculously, they managed to make it through the rest of the evening without any diplomatic nightmares, although the appalled faces Arthur made during the bard’s tales might well have set off an international crisis, had not seemingly everyone else in the banquet hall agreed with his assessment.

When they returned to their rooms, Arthur moodily stalked off to his sleeping chamber, declaring that he was going to bed. Morgana raised a brow as she looked after him, and then glanced at Merlin. “I believe that’s your cue,” she said coolly.

Merlin sighed but went after Arthur.

The prince was shucking off his clothes and tossing them angrily everywhere, muttering to himself.

“You’re talking to yourself now?” Merlin said conversationally. “Should I be concerned?”

“Bugger off,” Arthur said rudely. “I never asked for you.”

“We were worried that you’d work yourself into a state and go confront Akbar on your own,” Merlin replied, and earned a withering glare for his trouble.

“I’m not _stupid_ ,” Arthur snarled. “I have _some_ self-control, despite what Morgana thinks.”

“I know you do,” Merlin said gently, watching Arthur pace.

“Last night, a bunch of men tried to kill me and my friends,” Arthur said. “And we know who’s behind it, and I can’t _do_ anything about it.”

“Want to go practice some sword work in the courtyard?” Merlin offered. “I promise to go easy and let you win.”

“Ha!” Arthur said, but the look he gave Merlin was more fond amusement than annoyance, so that was something.

“You could teach me that thingamujig move, the Lion feint.”

“The _Lyon_ feint,” Arthur corrected. “And actually, I think you’re too tall. The stop-thrust you did last night is better.”

“I _was_ pretty good last night, wasn’t I?” Merlin said, grinning.

Arthur rolled his eyes, but he was also smiling. “You barely managed to avoid getting yourself and Morgana killed; so yes, relatively speaking, you were.”  
“Thank you, Sire,” Merlin deadpanned. “Your high esteem means the world to me. I live for your constant approval. I stay up hours imagining all the things I can do to get it. I—”

“All right, enough! You’ve cheered me up,” Arthur said, whacking Merlin on the shoulder. “Now go away, Merlin.”

“Good night, Sire.”

*

Arthur’s improved spirits did not last very long. The next day and a half passed in tense anticipation of an axe that did not fall. “What are they _waiting_ for?” Morgana complained.

“They’re planning,” Godfrey answered.

Arthur attended several more meetings, and sat through a costumed entertainment that would have been enjoyable, had they not all been so on edge. He saw less and less of Morgana, who kept disappearing with Lady Helene, and more of Akbar and his courtiers than he would have liked. “Is that wise?” Gwen asked after Arthur’s second morning in a row in Akbar’s company. “Your spending so much time around Caldor?”

“We’re surrounded by the court,” Arthur replied. “Short of pulling out a dagger and stabbing me in front of an audience, there’s not much he can do.”

“And I’m watching,” Merlin added. “As are Leon, and the rest of the knights.”

“Caldor’s a vain, stuck-up snob,” Arthur said, rather snobbishly himself, “but he’s not stupid.”

Gwen pursed her lips, but didn’t say anything further.

Then, on the sixth day of their visit in Iskandara, all hell broke loose.

*

“You know, when you told me to wear riding kit, I thought we were actually going to be riding something,” Morgana complained. “Maybe one of those striped horses.” They were standing on the edge of the Ratterdan, watching servants unload a series of small boats, painted gaily in all sorts of colors.

“Well, I figured riding clothes would be the most suitable thing you had,” Helene said. “And besides, we’re too far north for zebras.” She glanced at Morgana and said reassuringly, “It’s more fun than it appears.”

“Really?” Morgana said doubtfully. “Because it doesn’t seem all that fun to me.”

“I haven’t gone in quite some time, but I remember it being fun.”’

Morgana raised her brows at the other woman. “You sound like you’re trying to convince yourself, not me.”

Helene dissolved into giggles. “I’m sorry. You’re right; I hate it. I hate the water, and I hate getting wet.”

“I have to get wet?” Morgana asked, dismayed.

“How do you think you get on board?”

Gwen appeared at Morgana’s elbow. “Milady, Lady Helene, your—er—boat is being unloaded over there.” She pointed, and Morgana looked to see a boat painted the color of summer leaves bobbing in the shallows. The white sail flapped somewhat ominously in the breeze.

“Oh dear,” Helene said. “It’s never usually this windy.”

“I still don’t understand the point of all this,” Gwen said.

“Camelot has jousting,” Helene said. “Iskandara has boat racing.”

“Ladies aren’t allowed to joust,” Morgana said gloomily. “I wouldn’t mind being excluded from this.”

A man in royal livery approached them, bowing low. “My ladies, my name is Mal, and I shall be your waterman.”

“If I end up drowning,” Morgana said to Gwen, “be sure to tell Arthur that this is all his fault.”

“I’m sure it’ll be fine,” Gwen said. She didn’t sound very convinced herself. “What could possibly go wrong?”

*

“I can’t believe Sir Godfrey’s letting you do this,” Merlin muttered, looking at Arthur’s red boat skeptically.

“Yes, well, apparently everyone takes part in the races, even the women. Abstaining would make me out to be some sort of coward.” Arthur toed off his boots, tossing them in Merlin’s general direction.

“I still think I should come with you—just in case.”

“You’ve managed to fall off three horses since we’ve been here. What makes you think a boat will be any different?”

“None of those times were my fault!” Merlin protested. “And boats aren’t alive.”

“I hardly think that would matter, where you’re concerned. Hmm. Should I take off my jerkin?”

Merlin regarded the leather jacket. “Probably. It won’t be any use to you if it gets wet.” Arthur shrugged it off, draping it over Merlin’s head.  
“Thank you, Sire,” Merlin muttered, pulling it off of his face. “But what if something happens? This is a perfect opportunity for them to try something.”

“Then let them try!” Arthur said, exasperated. “I’m sick of waiting for something to happen.”

“I was afraid you were going to say that.”

Arthur sighed, turning to face Merlin fully. He clapped both hands on Merlin’s shoulders and said, “Look, I do understand the risk. But I think it might be worth it. We’re leaving in a couple days; if they want their plan to work, they’re going to have to try again for me some time. And also,” he added, lowering his voice even further, “Umar’s out there. I’d like to keep an eye on him as well.”

“But I could help you—”

“Leon will be with me. What could you do that he can’t?”

At that, Merlin opened his mouth, closed it again, and settled for looking mutinously at Arthur, who chose to ignore him. Arthur smiled cheerfully. “I’ve never been sailing before. What’s that saying again? ‘Keep a weather eye out.’ And stop looking so sour. That’s an order, Merlin.”

“That’s an _order_ , Merlin,” Merlin mimicked to himself, and got a face full of water for his trouble. He spluttered, and Arthur grinned.

“See? That’s a much better look for you.”

*

“This is the worst idea ever,” Merlin said irritably several minutes later, watching Arthur and Leon help their waterman launch the small red boat, “and I’ve had some really bad ones in my time.”

“Come,” Gwen said, holding out a hand. “We’d better get on the barge.”

Most of the court was taking part in the sailing. The few who were abstaining, as well as the servants and Royal Guardsmen, were gathered on one of several large wooden barges which made their way ponderously out into the lake and then anchored. The barges formed a sort of triangle, which the small boats would race around. Merlin elbowed his way to the railing, angling his body to let Gwen slip inside his arms. She leaned on the railing, shading her eyes with one hand.

“I can’t see them.”

“Give them a few minutes to get farther out,” Merlin suggested, his eyes drifting over the assembled crowds. “Gwen. Tarek isn’t sailing.”

She turned round, and Merlin nodded in Tarek’s direction. He was chatting amiably with some other men, looking totally relaxed and at ease. “Where’s Caldor?” Gwen asked.

“Where else? With Akbar.”

Godfrey moved through the crowd toward them. “I have to go discuss some things with Lord Saphin. He’s going back with you as the new Iskandaran ambassador to Camelot, and he seems to have some peculiar ideas about Uther that I want to disabuse him of. Keep an eye on Prince Arthur and the Lady Morgana. And also,” he added, lowering his voice, “on King Umar. I’ll be back here as soon as I can.”

“I hate waiting,” Merlin muttered as Godfrey walked away.

“Patience is a virtue,” Gwen sang under her breath, and then grinned when Merlin pinched her.

*

For the first few minutes, Arthur was able to forget the last few days and just enjoy being out on the water. Kip, their boatman, was an eager-to-please young lad barely out of boyhood, who patiently answered all of Arthur’s questions about sailing tactics and boat handling.

“You always have to know where the wind is coming from,” Kip said, steering skillfully around a cluster of boats. Arthur could make out Queen Zuhra comfortably perched in one, hand authoritatively on the tiller and calling out directions to the boats around her. Morgana and Helene were in another, laughing together and tugging on various ropes as their boatman looked on in tolerant amusement.

“Who’s the best sailor?” Arthur asked.

“Watch your head, sir,” Kip said to Leon, and the latter tried to make himself even smaller, grimacing uncomfortably. The sail whipped around and Arthur ducked. “Her Majesty the Queen is one of the best, I’d say,” Kip answered Arthur. “Although, of course, His Majesty and the princes are no slouches either.”

“Both princes? Even Amil?” Arthur asked, surprised. “I didn’t know he sailed.”

Kip nodded. “Oh, yes. The royal carpenters fashioned a special seat for him. He’s quite good.”

A puff of breeze ruffled Arthur’s hair, and the boat tilted over. Leon clutched at the side of the boat. “Sir, you have to relax,” Kip said, frowning. “I’m not going to let us flip over. My lord, that rope you’re holding controls the sail. When we get hit by wind like that, let it out a little.”

Arthur tugged experimentally on the rope in his hands, and the sail waggled back and forth. “Yes, like that,” Kip said, “but in one smooth motion.”

Arthur grinned. “I think I’m getting the hang of it! What d’you think, Leon?”

“I think you should have let Merlin come,” Leon responded, and then was promptly sick over the side of the boat.

*

The course, Mal explained, was around the three barges. Morgana and Helene spent the entire first leg of the race in hysterics, as they slid and fell around the jostling boat. “Don’t worry,” Mal said, as the rest of the boats pulled ahead. “We’ll catch them when we round the first barge.”

“Oh, I’m so relieved,” Morgana gasped, struggling to stay upright. “I couldn’t _bear_ the thought of losing.”

Helene, clinging to a rope with both hands, snickered, and then lost her balance and fell over again. She landed heavily on Morgana, who threw out one arm to steady herself. Helene, flailing, grabbed on to Morgana’s shoulder and they both crashed to the bottom of the boat, with Helene ending up half across Morgana’s lap and her arms round Morgana’s neck. Morgana’s hair, loosened in the fall, flapped down around their faces, creating a curtain of black that separated them from the rest of the world.

Somewhere in the back of her mind, Morgana was aware of her back, pitched forward at an unpleasant angle and shrieking in protest, and the wooden railing, digging painfully into one palm. But for the moment, all she could focus on was Helene’s face, upturned as though for a kiss. Helene’s eyes, flicked wide open, moved from Morgana’s eyes down to her mouth, and then back up again. Her tongue, pink and pebbly, darted out to wet her lips, and Morgana swallowed. They were both breathing heavily. After the barest hesitation, Helene leaned upwards toward Morgana, inhaling ever so slowly, and then—

“My ladies!” Mal exclaimed. “Are you all right?” He dropped to a knee to help them up, and the boat rocked with their shifting weight. Flushing, Morgana eased back slowly and Helene let go, taking Mal’s outstretched hand and pulling herself up. The cool breeze whipped Morgana’s face, a shocking contrast to the warmth of Helene’s body. It had only been a few seconds, nothing more. Morgana bit her lip, looking away.

They stayed silent for several moments, Helene gazing resolutely ahead, Morgana out over the water. Mal pulled on ropes and maneuvered the tiller, and soon they were rounding the first barge. Nobles and commoners alike crowded on the heavy wooden deck, cheering on the boats. Morgana searched for Gwen and Merlin, unsure if they were on this barge or the next.

Helene said sharply, “What’s happening?”

Morgana looked ahead. Mal had been right; they had caught up with the rest of the fleet. The boats were jumbled together, and as Morgana watched, a strong puff of wind knocked their sails over and the boats, almost in unison, all heeled over. Then a second gust, from the opposite side, knocked the boats the other way, and they heaved into each other, masts crashing crazily together. Their own boat, at the very back of the pack, rocked back and forth violently.

“I don’t understand,” Mal said, struggling with the rope and the tiller. “The wind should only be coming from one direction.”

“This isn’t right,” Helene said grimly.

And then, almost on cue, they heard someone scream.

*

Merlin said abruptly, “That wind isn’t natural.” Gwen glanced away from the chaos to Merlin, who was staring fixedly at a point on the near side of the lake. Tall reeds lined the shore, shielding whatever Merlin was looking at from view.

“What?”

“It isn’t—someone’s _making_ that wind. And it’s coming from over there.”

“You’re sure?”

“Think so. C’mon, let’s go.” He started pushing through the crowds of murmuring people to the back of the barge. The sound of screaming made Gwen pause and look back, but Merlin said urgently, “We can’t do anything for them, Gwen. We have to stop the wind first.”

There were several small rowboats tied to the barge. Ignoring the shouts from a servant, they jumped into one and Merlin pushed them off after severing the tie-down line with a quickly spoken word.

“Here—it’ll be faster if I just row,” he said, shaking off her offer of help and taking up both oars. “Can you see anything?”

“Just reeds,” she said, shielding her eyes. “How do you know this is the right place?”

“I can feel it.” Merlin grimaced. “Whoever it is, their magic is giving off some pretty powerful energy.”

“And you can feel it,” Gwen said wonderingly.

“Yes. It’s…not very comfortable.”

Several wooden sticks arched out of the reeds ahead of them. Squinting, Gwen realized that they were arrows, heading directly for the boats. “Oh, my god,” Merlin said, staring. Gwen twisted around, watching them speed out over the lake, falling like deadly shooting stars into the cluster of boats. Faintly, she could hear more screaming.

“Merlin! We have to do something!”

“There’s still someone controlling the wind,” Merlin said, rowing with even more determination. “That must be how those arrows can reach. It’s too far otherwise.”

“How do we stop it?” she asked.

He shook his head. “I have no idea.”

*

The first arrow sliced through the sail, hurtling past Arthur’s nose. Leon shouted, “Get down!” before Arthur could even register what happened. The second arrow struck Leon in the thigh and the third hit Kip in the shoulder. The three of them hit the deck, and Arthur, swearing profusely, crawled to Kip’s side. The boy was pale and breathing shallowly, but otherwise looked all right. “Leon?” Arthur asked, shrugging off his shirt and wrapping it gingerly around the penetrating arrow in Kip’s shoulder.

“I’m fine,” Leon grunted. Arthur glanced out from under the ripped sail. The other boats had been battered together by the wind, and the sounds of wood scraping against wood filled the air. Arthur could see more arrows, sticking out of masts and hulls, and several other sails were also rent.

“It doesn’t make sense,” Arthur said to himself. “They could have hit anybody. They could have hit _Akbar_.”

“He and Caldor went off on another tack,” Leon said, twisting up to look out over the side. “I saw them break off from the rest of the boats when we rounded the barge.”

Sure enough, Arthur could see a purple-hulled boat rapidly approaching the rest of the boats. He made out Akbar, standing in the bow and shouting, and Caldor at the tiller. Then Caldor yanked the tiller around and the boat turned directly into the wind and stopped dead in the water, still some distance away.

“Uh oh,” Arthur said. “That’s not a good sign.”

He heard the whistle of more arrows just as Leon yelled. He ducked down, covering Kip’s body with his own. One arrow clattered harmlessly against the side of the hull as others swished into the water. Arthur peered out of the boat in time to see an arrow strike Amil, still perched on his special chair on the rail of the boat. The prince cried out and fell backwards into the lake.

Arthur didn’t even think. In one swift moment he launched himself into the water.

*

The rowboat landed with a bump and Merlin leapt out, with Gwen scrambling behind him. Reeds slapped at her face as she ran after Merlin, trying not to trip on the marshy ground. “Where?” she gasped out and he replied, “I don’t know, close…” Then he ran blindly into someone, tumbling to the ground, and Gwen squeaked and skipped to the side to avoid them.

The man was just as skinny as Merlin, and just as tall. They rolled together in a tangle of limbs and curses until the man, extricating an arm, muttered something and pointed at Merlin, who was blasted several feet in the air. He landed heavily, crashing through the reeds. Gwen screamed and moved to kick the man but he twisted toward her, speaking the same word, and she knew only a great pain in her chest and then nothing more.

*

“Arthur!” Morgana shouted. She turned towards Mal. “Go towards him! GO!” Mal heaved on the sail, eyes wide, and Morgana leaned over the side of the boat, searching for some sign of Arthur.

“There!” Helene exclaimed, pointing. Arthur surfaced, gasping, with Amil clutched awkwardly in his arms. Amil looked unconscious. Around them, the water darkened with blood.

The wind let up suddenly, and Morgana and Helene were rocked backwards as the boat abruptly righted itself. Morgana fought her way back to the side. Arthur was still in the water, struggling to stay afloat and keep Amil’s head above water.

“Look out!” Helene shrieked, and Morgana looked up to see a boat, its occupants struggling with their own sail and tiller, bearing down directly on Arthur and Amil. Arthur opened his mouth to shout as well, and a wave swamped over him. He surfaced briefly, choking, and sank again.

*

Gwen came to in time to see Merlin launch himself at the man. They crashed down into the reeds, arms and legs flailing, until Merlin managed to separate himself and roll up to his knees. His eyes swirled gold as he spoke a word, and the man grunted and fell backwards as a flash of blue light spun him around. Then the man—the sorcerer—shouted something and a crack of red zinged toward Merlin. He made a waving motion with one arm, and the red bolt deflected away to singe the ground.

Gwen sat up and looked around for something heavy. Off to the side, she could hear Merlin and the man muttering spells and curses. The air crackled with magic and strands of her hair floated around her face, vibrating with energy. There was a rock buried half in the muck a few feet away. She reached for it.

Then the sorcerer shouted something, triumphantly, and Gwen saw Merlin seize up in pain. The sorcerer stalked toward Merlin, clearly enjoying the pain he was causing, while Merlin writhed on the ground.

“That’s what you get for interfering,” the sorcerer said, “you tiresome little—”

Gwen bashed him over the head with the rock. The man dropped and Merlin, released, gasped out something that caused vines to appear out of the air and wrap themselves around his adversary’s arms. But the sorcerer laughed arrogantly and, with a flip of his wrists, the vines turned into snakes and flew toward Gwen, entwining her in scaly, hissing bindings. Gwen fell to her knees and retched, frantically trying not to look closely at her live captors.

“You’re going to have to do better than that, little boy,” the sorcerer taunted, grinning. He pulled more blue magic out of his palm like a woman pulling yarn off a spindle, and tossed it, almost lovingly, into the air. Gwen watched as it started to coalesce into something large, dark, and menacing. Its edges were strangely blurred, as though the sorcerer was having trouble maintaining a clear shape in his mind, but the fire that spewed out of its mouth towards Merlin was real enough.

Merlin dodged to the side, hurling curses. Some of them deflected off of the monster and fell, sparking, to the ground. The snakes binding her twitched, and Gwen fell over, shrieking. There was more hissing as parts of the snakes landed underneath her, and they retaliated by tightening their grip. The sorcerer laughed, the monster growled, and Merlin skipped out of Gwen’s line of sight, still trying different spells.

Someone shouted. The sorcerer’s attention was diverted toward the sound for just one moment, and Merlin launched something blue and impossibly bright out of the palm of his hand. Gwen shut her eyes against the glare, hearing a crack like thunder as the magic connected. A huge gust of wind swirled up around her, and the monster gave a mighty roar of anguish. She felt the snakes loosen and vanish into nothing.

She opened her eyes to see the sorcerer, prone on his back, and surrounded by the javelins of several Royal Guards. His eyes were closed. And then she saw Merlin, extending down a hand to pull her up.

“You all right?” he asked. He looked exhausted and was dripping with sweat, but she could see how pleased with himself he was.

“I think so,” she said, a little shakily. “That was—what _was_ that?”

“I don’t know,” he said. “But I suspect our friend here will be _more_ than pleased to fill us in on all of the details.”

“He’s not dead?”

Merlin shook his head. “No. We need his information to end this once and for all. Come on. We have to check on the rest of the boats.”

“People were screaming,” Gwen said.

“I know,” he said grimly. “I know.”

*

Later, Morgana would not have a very clear recollection of what happened next. Arthur sank below the surface and she panicked, lashing out toward him with every ounce of pent-up feeling and energy and essence that her heart had been telling her for months was her inherent magical ability.

The water around Arthur’s submerged form began to roil. Helene said, “What—?” but Morgana was concentrating too fiercely—on what, exactly, she wasn’t certain. The sensation of diving, and lifting, and pulling took over her mind, and all she could think over and over again was, _To me. Bring him to me._ The boiling liquid glowed frothily green and finally, with agonizing slowness, Arthur and Amil surfaced, streaming water.

Borne on the back of her magic, creakily new and unsteady, they floated over to her boat as she gripped the railing and tried not to lose control. Then Arthur’s boot snagged on the side of the boat, and the jerk broke her concentration. The two men tipped into the center of the boat with a crash, and Morgana blacked out.

*

Godfrey shoved his way, rather indecorously, to the end of the barge where the Lady Morgana’s boat was being tied up. Servants jumped into the small craft, helping the waterman lift Prince Amil up gently and lending a hand to Lady Helene. Arthur was the last one out, and he carefully took the unconscious Morgana up in his arms, his face still etched with shock as he looked down at his foster sister.

“She—she—” he began when he saw Godfrey.

“Not now,” Godfrey shushed him. “We can discuss it later.” He led Arthur over to a low bench along one railing, and the prince laid Morgana gently down, keeping her head in his lap. 

The king’s boat docked, and everyone gave way as Umar jumped on deck and rushed to his son’s side. Amil was awake, coughing weakly, and Umar gathered him close, pounding on his back to ease his congestion. Then the queen arrived, and mother and father helped their son into one of the staterooms in the center of the barge.

Someone had towed Arthur’s abandoned boat to the barge, and Sir Leon limped onboard. A knight leapt to his side, sliding one of Leon’s arms over his shoulder and the taller man eased off of his injured leg, wincing. “Where’s Akbar?” he asked, low, when he reached them. 

Godfrey shook his head. “I haven’t seen him.”

“Probably still sailing around with Caldor,” Arthur said bitterly. “Need to keep in the clear of all those flying arrows.”

“Keep your voice down,” Godfrey admonished. Arthur glared at him halfheartedly, and then returned to his contemplation of the sleeping Morgana.

The king emerged, darkly furious, and snapped, “Has someone sent anyone to investigate those arrows yet?”

The captain of his Royal Guard said swiftly, “Yes, sir; I sent a squadron over as soon as we saw the first volley.”

“Well, why the devil aren’t they back yet?” Umar demanded. “I want a report!”

“Where’s Merlin?” Arthur asked Godfrey. “And Gwen?”

Another officer came running up and whispered something into the captain’s ear. “Sir,” said the captain, “they’ve been spotted and are on their way back. With prisoners, it looks like.”

“Oh, never mind,” Arthur said.

Morgana stirred, bringing up one slim hand and rubbing her forehead before opening her eyes. She locked gazes with Arthur, still hunched over her head, and Uther Pendragon’s children stared at each other for a long, tense moment. Then Morgana lifted her chin challengingly and sat up, turning her shoulder to him. He let her move away, still staring at her. Lady Helene came over, seating herself next to Morgana and taking up the other woman’s hands. 

“How are you feeling?”

“My head is pounding,” Morgana said. “And there is a distinct possibility that I may be sick. What’s going on?”

“You saved the princes,” Lady Helene said, smiling at Morgana. “It was really quite dramatic.”

“I like to think I have a certain flair,” Morgana said a little weakly, smiling back. Godfrey’s attention was diverted by the arrival of Lord Tarek coming over to confer with the king. For once, he looked uneasy, and he kept glancing across the lake as though he were searching for someone.

“Trouble?” Arthur asked quietly.

“I’m not sure.”

“He’s obviously waiting for someone. Caldor?”

“Probably,” Godfrey said. 

Arthur said, “Whatever’s going on here, it doesn’t seem like he’s on top of it.”

“Or maybe he’s just worried that his plan is falling apart.”

The squadron of Guard members clattered onto the deck. Merlin and Gwen were with them, as was a third man, still unconscious, who was dumped unceremoniously onto the deck.

“Merlin!” Arthur exclaimed, jumping up. He strode over to Umar, with Godfrey hot on his heels. “These two are my servants. I want them released.”

One of the accompanying Guard members said, blinking, “Oh, of course, Sire. They’re not our prisoners. He’s the one who defeated the sorcerer.”

“Really?” Arthur asked, and grinned proudly. “Well, Merlin. How’d you do that?”

The prince’s manservant, looking more upset than Godfrey thought he had cause to be, opened his mouth to reply, but the Guard said jovially, “Why, with magic, of course. It was a great duel.”

Arthur’s face went completely blank. Godfrey looked back at Merlin, who had squeezed his eyes shut as though he was in pain, and then at the handmaiden, looking back and forth between the two young men wretchedly. Godfrey decided he had better interfere before things got too out of hand, and was about to suggest that the Camelot contingent retire and regroup, when Umar said suddenly, “Tarek. Isn’t that sorcerer a member of your household?”

Godfrey sighed.

*

Gwen hadn’t noticed Lord Tarek, so engrossed was she in the private drama wordlessly unfolding between Arthur and Merlin. Arthur’s face was white and his lips were compressed into a thin line. Merlin, for his part, just looked bleak. 

“He…is…” Tarek said slowly, looking down at the man as though he’d never seen him before. “I have no idea what he’s doing here.” Surprised, Gwen found herself believing him. A quick glance at Lord Godfrey’s frowning face confirmed it.

“You’re sure he was responsible for the arrows?” the king asked the Guard member. 

The soldier frowned. “Well, actually, your Majesty—we just headed in the direction the arrows were coming from. We found these two fighting,” he said, indicating Merlin and the unconscious sorcerer.

“Well, then then how do you know it wasn’t them?” Tarek asked smoothly, nodding at Gwen and Merlin. 

“Look here—” Arthur said angrily.

“Your Majesty,” Lord Godfrey interrupted hastily. “I think there is some information we have that might be useful to you, but perhaps not in so public a venue?”

The king was about to reply when another soldier spoke up. “Begging your pardon, Majesty, but those servants couldn’t have caused the arrows.”

All eyes swung to the speaker, who flushed from the attention. Gwen felt a twinge of sympathy for him.

“And how do you know that?”

“Because,” he said, “they were still on the lake when the first hail of arrows fell, Sire.”

“Hmm,” King Umar said. “Lord Godfrey, you say you have information that might relate to this attack?”

Godfrey nodded, and Gwen saw how Tarek’s eyes fixed upon him narrowly.

“Very well,” King Umar said. “We shall hear it when we return to the palace.”

Akbar rushed into the circle of people. “My mother! Where is she?” he asked frantically. “I saw the arrows and I thought—”

“She’s gone with your brother to one of the state rooms,” his father replied. Akbar vanished inside, sparing no glace to Tarek or the man on the deck.

“Majesty,” Tarek said to King Umar, “I don’t know what to tell you about this sorceror. He’s obviously gone rogue, I can’t think what his motivations might be…” He trailed off, staring, as Caldor finally trotted into view. Following his gaze, Gwen saw Caldor blanch when he caught sight of his father standing behind the unconscious sorcerer. She looked back in time to see Tarek’s eyes harden in displeased understanding. 

Apparently, King Umar had followed this silent exchange as well. He said, voice cold, “I am sure this sorcerer will be able to provide us with more details when he wakes up. In the meantime, Tarek, may I offer you and your son my private Guard as escorts home?”

Tarek’s face seemed to settle. Then, voice flat, he said, “It would be our pleasure, Majesty.” Head held high, he strode over to Caldor, surrounded by guardsmen.

King Umar glanced around irritably. “Why have we not set sail for shore?” A dozen men jumped to attention, and the king said to his captain, “Chain this man up. When we get back to the palace, I want to see my spymaster and the council immediately.” The captain nodded briskly, motioning to the surrounding guards. 

King Umar rubbed a weary hand over his face, before turning to Arthur. “At least your man acquitted himself well,” he said, nodding to Merlin. 

Arthur made a strangled sound of thanks, and King Umar excused himself. Merlin said, “Arthur—”

 _“Not in public,”_ Arthur ground out. “Let’s collect Morgana and get out of here.” Merlin deflated visibly as Arthur turned and stalked away. Gwen put a gentle hand on Merlin’s arm. He jumped, as though he’d forgotten she was even there, and turned to her, devastated.

“What have I done?” he whispered. 

“Shh,” she said soothingly. “It’ll be fine. But he needs a chance to be angry.” Merlin sighed and trailed after Arthur. Gwen started after them, but Godfrey put a forestalling arm out. “Young miss, did you know about the Lady Morgana?”

Gwen kept her face carefully neutral. “I’m sorry, I don’t understand.” 

He gave her a sour look. “We know about her magic. She saved Arthur and Amil by using it.”

“Oh,” Gwen said. “And Arthur?”

“Found out fifteen minutes ago,” Godfrey finished.

“Oh, dear.”

“Quite. Tell me, did that sorcerer say anything that would concretely tie him to Tarek?”

Gwen shook her head. “No. There wasn’t…much time for talking.”

Concern passed over his face. “Are you both all right?” he asked, and despite the differences in height and build, Gwen was forcibly reminded of her father.

“Yes,” she said, after a moment. “Thank you, though.”

“Come,” he said. “We still have the rest of the day to get through. Both your mistress and your prince will need you.”

*

The journey back to the palace was not particularly pleasant. Neither Arthur nor Morgana were speaking to Merlin, and so he spent the entire trip perched miserably on his horse, trying to make himself as small and unobtrusive as possible. The only positive was that he didn’t fall off the horse, which he bitterly thought should count as something.

When they got back to the palace, Godfrey went to give King Umar and his royal spymaster the information they’d collected. Merlin trailed along behind the rest of the group, trying not to think very much at all. 

When they reached their chambers, Arthur shut the door with a bang and turned to them, face unreadable. Morgana made her way to the same side chair she’d silently occupied several nights ago and sank down, her head defiantly high. Merlin remained standing in the center of the room. Gwen looked between the three of them, and then perched on the edge of a trunk like a waiting bird. 

“So,” Arthur said. “You have magic. The pair of you.”

“Yes,” Merlin said.

“Yes,” Morgana echoed.

“And you’ve had magic, what—all this time? And you didn’t say anything.”

“Yes,” Merlin said. “I knew. But Morgana didn’t.”

“I can speak for myself,” she said sharply. “I think I’ve had enough of your protecting.”

“Protecting?” Arthur scoffed. “ _Merlin?_ You’re lucky he didn’t accidentally out you earlier with his bumbling, idiotic—”

 _“Arthur,”_ Gwen said, shocked.

 _“I trusted you,”_ Arthur said to Merlin, his voice raw. “I thought we were friends, I thought—we’ve fought together, I’ve risked my life for you, I would have—”

“What?” Morgana said acidly. “What would you have done? Because really, that’s the only question that matters. Not what Merlin or I should have done. But what would you do. What _will_ you do? Tell me, Arthur Pendragon, _are you your father’s son or not?”_

Off to the side, Gwen made a soft, distressed noise. Arthur looked at his foster-sister, then back at Merlin, his jaw working.

“I wanted to tell you,” Merlin said. “But I didn’t want to make you choose.”

“So letting me stumble along in my own ignorance…” Arthur broke off, his face full of a sudden, terrible understanding. “How often did you use your magic?”

“I’m sorry?” Merlin said, not wanting to understand.

“Around me. All those times that things so miraculously went our way, all those times we had a close encounter, and I thought we’d just gotten lucky or I was able to fight our way out or—just _tell me!”_

“I’ve used it occasionally,” Merlin allowed.

“‘Occasionally,’” Arthur snorted. “And how often did you laugh about it, behind my back? ‘Oh, stupid Arthur, always thinking he’s the great big hero; what a fool he is.’ All those times I was praised for defeating monsters or evil sorcerers, and really, it was you all along, wasn’t it? How that must have riled you.”

 _“Stop it,”_ Merlin said, anguished, just as Gwen, voice determined, said, “Arthur, that’s enough.”

He turned fierce eyes on her. “And how long have you known, _Guinevere?”_

Something flickered over her face at his use of her full name, but she replied levelly, “Several days.”

“And you didn’t see fit to tell me, either.”

“It wasn’t my secret to tell.”

 _“How convenient,”_ he snarled.

Gwen narrowed her eyes at him. “I understand that you’re angry, Arthur, but really, you’re not doing anything to alleviate their fears over telling you. They wanted to spare you a terrible decision. They’re your friends and they believe in you, and in the king you will become. But right now, you’re not giving them much hope for the future.”

Before Arthur could reply, the door opened and Godfrey entered. He looked around the room, no doubt noting the tense postures, and said blandly, “Am I interrupting?”


	4. Chapter 4

Half an hour later, Arthur was admitted into Amil’s private study. Amil was propped up on a chaise, his side bandaged heavily and his lap covered in blankets. Pillows overflowed behind him. “My mother got rather overzealous,” he said in answer to Arthur’s look.

“How are you feeling otherwise?”

“A bit like a drowned rat, but alive, thanks to you.”

Arthur shrugged. “Would have done it for anyone.”

Amil studied him for a moment. “You know, I actually believe that is true.” He readjusted himself against the pillows, pulling one out and throwing it to the floor with an annoyed look. “We’ve heard from your Lord Godfrey, and they’ve begun to interrogate that sorcerer,” he said. “I’ve been informed of enough to know that he’s corroborating much of the information you have given us. We’ve now got a general idea of what was going on.”

“Ah,” Arthur said.

Amil laughed humorlessly. “ _Ah_ , indeed. You’re doubtlessly wondering just exactly what I mean by that. But I nearly died today and you saved me; and none of this would have happened if not for my fool of a brother. So, I think we can dispense with the diplomatic talk and speak frankly, if only for this conversation. Iskandara owes you and your friends one hell of an apology. Unfortunately, I’m all you’re going to get. I hope you understand.”

“Of course,” Arthur said. “I understand how these things work. So, did Caldor decide to take initiative today?”

“Apparently,” Amil said, making a face. “Unfortunately for pretty much everyone, Caldor is a lot less intelligent than his father, and a lot more carelessly ruthless. There was a very good chance that none of his targets would even get injured; it’s only down to sheer luck that _I_ managed to get hurt.”

“You were a target, as well?”

“Yes. Tarek has never liked the idea of me directing the council, and Caldor can’t stand me.”

“Tarek must be furious,” Arthur said, smiling slightly.

Amil chuckled. “My father said that he’s never seen a man so angry. Of course, Tarek tried to throw his son to the lions. Charming family.”

There was a knock on the door before a servant slipped in and handed Amil a piece of folded paper. He read it, brow creasing, and then dismissed the servant with a word of thanks. “They’ve found that Hephastian fellow,” he said. “He was trying to leave the city. Evidently, word has spread.”

“How much of the blacksmith’s guild was involved?” Arthur asked.

“I’m not sure yet,” Amil answered. “Despite Tarek’s influence, the guild has been losing money in recent years, and as you may have guessed, profits are the lifeblood of Iskandara. They were running the risk of being absorbed by another guild.” He sighed. “It wouldn’t surprise me to find that most of the guild members were at least somewhat involved. Which reminds me: those men from the other night, who attacked you and your friends? Most of them were apprentices.”

“I thought they weren’t professionals,” Arthur said. “As far as assassins go, they weren’t very good.”

“Frankly, I’m a little embarrassed any of them were able to get away with it for so long,” Amil said. “It’s not exactly the most brilliant plan in the world.”

“Kingdoms have been built and destroyed on far less,” Arthur commented.

“True,” Amil conceded. “And my brother is not exactly the sharpest sword in the smithy. I don’t think it even occurred to him that killing my father or myself was in the works. He couldn’t see beyond the prospect of leading Iskandara gloriously into battle.”

“So what happens next?”

“I imagine the conspirators will be executed for treason.”

“And what about your brother?” Arthur asked, after a moment’s hesitation.

Amil looked at Arthur straight on. “You must understand, Akbar’s involvement in this can never be known. It would only weaken his rule, when he does come to the throne.”

“But—”

“He’s the crown prince,” Amil said, very softly.

“He also committed treason,” Arthur said, just as softly. “No matter how unwitting it was.”

“What would you have my parents do?” Amil asked. “Kill their own son?”

“Kings do,” Arthur returned. “When the stability of the kingdom is threatened.”

Amil blew out a breath. “I should not like to be the person who crosses you. You must be the sort to never forget a betrayal, no matter the intentions behind it.”

Arthur flinched. Amil continued obliviously, “Nevertheless, Akbar will be king. But his movements will be watched, his meetings and companions watched.”

“For the rest of his life?”

Amil shrugged. “Yes. It is not very different than what we had anticipated, to be honest. We’ll just have to do better at finding diversions for his attention, and screen his companions more carefully.”

“Why doesn’t your father make you king?” Arthur asked impulsively. “Surely, he knows both of your qualities.”

Amil’s eyes widened in surprise. “And disinherit Akbar?”

“Yes.”

“That would most likely lead to civil war.”

“But if you’re already constraining his movements—”

“As long as Akbar gets to be king,” Amil said, “he will be relatively easy to manage. But if he was disinherited, I would have to lock him up for the rest of his life. Or kill him. I am willing to do neither.”

Arthur shook his head wonderingly. “Iskandara is lucky to have you.”

Amil inclined his head in thanks. “Well,” he said wanly, “what’s a kingdom without a little family drama?”

Arthur snorted. “Oh, indeed.”

*

As soon as Arthur left, Morgana announced she was going for a walk, and swept out before Merlin or Gwen could question her. She still ached from that afternoon and her head jangled with magic, and she thought that walking would clear her mind. When the knights made a move to escort her, she waved them off, saying, “It’s over now. I’ll be fine.”

She didn’t have any set destination and wandered through hallways and up and down staircases, admiring the views out of the windows. To the west, the sun sank toward the ground, trailing skirts of orange and red.

She ended up in front of Helene’s door, and paused. She had no idea if Helene was even in her chambers, or if she was waiting on Zuhra. While Morgana stood and mentally debated knocking, the door opened and she was greeted with Helene’s surprised face.

“Oh! Hello!” Helene said. “I was actually about to go find you. Please, come in.”

“Arthur went to see Amil,” Morgana said as she entered the room. “Have you heard anything?”

“The sorcerer confessed,” Helene said. “Unfortunately for Tarek, Caldor decided to take initiative and arrange for this afternoon’s attack. Tarek’s protesting his innocence, of course, but last I heard, the king has men going to the guild headquarters in search of more proof.”

“Do you think they’ll find any?”

Helene shrugged, seating herself on the edge of the bed. “At this point, it hardly matters. What with the confession, and the information provided by your Lord Godfrey, there’s too much suspicion around Tarek and his son now.”

Morgana remained standing. “Is that why you were coming to find me? To tell me that?”

Helene was silent for a moment, studying her. “Do you want that to be the reason?”

Morgana blinked. “What does that—I don’t know what that means.”

“Yes, you do,” Helene said in a low voice. “Don’t pretend. Not with me.”

“I don’t—”

Helene sprang up, stalking toward Morgana and backing her into the table. She reached up one hand and delicately smoothed her index finger across Morgana’s brow and down her cheekbone, where she hooked it gently under Morgana’s chin. Morgana watched her, lips parted, and when Helene leaned forward, she closed her eyes with a sigh.

Morgana had been kissed several times in her life, but never by a woman, and never with such sweetness. She held perfectly still for a few moments, letting Helene direct her, letting Helene control the motion of their mouths and tongues moving together. Finally Helene broke away, taking a ragged breath, and said against Morgana’s lips, “Oh, stay with me, just stay here. We could do this, we could—”

Morgana laughed a little wildly. “Here? With you?”

“Yes,” Helene said, somewhat defensively. “It happens, between women. And men, actually.”

“But,” Morgana protested, “how could I—what would I _do_?”

“Whatever you wanted,” Helene replied, smoothing her hands down Morgana’s face and tangling in her hair. “Learn how to use your magic. You’ve noble blood; you’d join the court here. You could be respected here. You said yourself, you didn’t know if you could ever go home again.”

“I…” Morgana pushed gently away from Helene. “I don’t know. I’ve been here less than a week; I hardly know you.”

Helene’s face went still. “You know the things that matter.”

Morgana pressed a hand to her brow. “I’m sorry. That’s not what I meant.”

“I know it’s sudden. I know it’s frightening. But we’d be in it together. Isn’t that something?” Helene stepped back, searching Morgana’s face. What she saw there made her own face fall.

“I’m sorry,” Morgana repeated. “But Iskandara isn’t my home.”

“It could become your home. _I_ could become your home,” Helene said quietly. Then, when Morgana was silent, “Very well. I won’t press you further.”

“Please don’t be upset,” Morgana said.

Helene huffed out a breath. “How could I be upset over five days?” she asked, not unkindly. “But I thank you for them.”

Morgana shook her head. “It’s I who should be thanking you. I didn’t realize…”

Helene smiled wryly, taking a seat in the wooden chair a few feet away and taking a deep, bracing breath. “For that alone, it’s been worth it. Morgana, what will you do? About Uther?”

“I don’t know. It depends on Arthur.”

“And what about Arthur?”

“He’ll come around,” Morgana said with more confidence than she felt. She paused to think about it. “No, I know he will. He’s a better man than Uther: he’s actually able to learn from his mistakes, and his father’s.”

“For your sake, I hope he does,” Helene said.

“For Camelot’s sake,” Morgana replied, “he will.”

*

When Arthur reentered his chambers, Gwen jumped up from where she’d been sitting next to Merlin and said with false brightness, “I’ll just…go find Morgana.” She left the room, raising a brow warningly at Arthur as she passed him.

Merlin stood slowly, warily regarding Arthur. “My lord,” he began formally, and Arthur’s stomach clenched at the distance between them.

“No,” he said.

Merlin frowned uncertainly. “No?”

“You were about to apologize,” Arthur said. “I’m telling you not to.”

“Oh,” Merlin said. “I wasn’t, actually. About to apologize.”

“You—you weren’t?”

“No.”

“Why not?” Arthur asked crossly, and grew even more irritated when Merlin had the gall to look somewhat amused. “You lied to me!”

“Yes,” Merlin said steadily. “I did. I lied to you, and I protected you, and I saved you more times than I can count, and I absolutely am not going to apologize to you.”

Arthur spluttered, and Merlin continued serenely, “Your father is an unyielding, short-sighted bigot with an irrational hatred of magic.”

“I—I know that,” Arthur said, nonplussed.

“I know you know,” Merlin said. “That’s exactly my point.”

“Stop talking in riddles,” Arthur ordered, annoyed.

“You now know that your father’s prejudices are exactly that—prejudices. Two years ago, I daresay you wouldn’t have recognized that.”

“Well, I admit that my father has taken his fear of magic to an unreasonable level. But I still hold that magic can be dangerous.”

Merlin chuckled dryly. “Arthur, not four hours ago I fought a duel against another sorcerer who wanted to turn the lot of you into pincushions. You don’t have to tell me that magic can be dangerous when in the wrong hands.”

“You still lied to me,” Arthur muttered.

Merlin pursed his lips. “I did. At first, it was self-preservation, and you really can’t blame me for that.”

Arthur shook his head.

“But, after a while, I began to hope that maybe you weren’t as rigid as Uther. That maybe, just through knowing me, and knowing that you could trust me, knowing that I would never, _never_ do anything to bring harm to you, that would be enough. When you did find out. And that you wouldn’t immediately take a sword to my neck.”

“Did you honestly think I could have done that to you?” Arthur asked, shame creeping up his neck.

Merlin shrugged. “At first, you might have done.”

Arthur sighed heavily, running a hand through his hair. “I hope no one ever again believes that they could not at the very least get a fair hearing from me.”

Merlin smiled faintly. “It’s good to hear you say that out loud.”

“Merlin…” Arthur began. “About my father…he’s not ready. I don’t know that he ever will be.”

Merlin nodded. “I know. But that doesn’t mean we shouldn’t begin to lay the groundwork for magical integration when you’re king.”

“I don’t even know where to begin,” Arthur said, a little helplessly.

At that, Merlin grinned, wide open and disarming. “Why, Sire, I don’t think I’ve ever heard you actually admit to not knowing how to do something.” He laughed aloud at Arthur’s glare, and then sobered. “In all seriousness, though: I know it’s daunting. But I am here to help, and so is Morgana. Let us be your guides.”

“Speaking of Morgana,” Arthur said, and Merlin grimaced. “You noticed?” he said.

“Merlin, speaking as someone who has been on the receiving end of one of Morgana’s rages many, _many_ times, let’s just say that I recognize the signs. Now I don’t know what you did to anger her, but you’d better fix it.”

“I want to…” Merlin said. “It’s probably best to beg for her forgiveness before she learns how to hex people.”

Arthur laughed. “That bad, hmm?”

Merlin shuddered. “You have no idea.”

*

Unable to find Morgana anywhere, Gwen returned to their chambers and knocked cautiously on the door. She pushed it open after Arthur’s boomed “Come in!” to find him and Merlin seated companionably across from each other at the table. “No Morgana?” Arthur asked. “Merlin here needs to grovel before her.”

Merlin gave Arthur a disgruntled look. “So do you, probably.”

“Probably,” Arthur agreed. “But first I have to apologize to Guinevere.” He paused, waiting.

Merlin remained sitting at the table, looking at him expectantly. “So…apologize,” he said.

“I intend to,” Arthur said, staring back at Merlin, who raised his brows in confusion. “What?”

“Merlin,” Arthur bit out. “Go away.”

Merlin’s brows went up even further. “Oh!” he said, and then _“ooh,”_ in a more knowing tone. He smirked at Arthur, grinned at Gwen, and bounded out of the room.

Arthur watched him go, shaking his head. “Sometimes I wonder about him.”

“So do we all,” Gwen returned easily. “I’m not sure why you feel like you have to apologize to me, Arthur.”

“I was rude to you earlier.”

“You’re often rude to Merlin,” she observed. “And Morgana.”

“Merlin and Morgana often deserve it,” he said, but smiled to show he was joking. “You, on the other hand, were only pointing out things that I was too bull-headed to acknowledge were true.” He frowned. “You seem to do that a lot. Am I really that bull-headed?”

“No,” she said. “Well, yes. Well, some of the time.”

Arthur laughed, and she said, grinning, “Let’s just say you’re getting better about it.”

After a moment, he sobered, looking at her intensely. Gwen swallowed. “I hope it’s not too much to ask of you,” he said, “but I’m going to be relying on you, and Merlin and Morgana, over the next few years, to point out when I’m being an idiot and what I can do to be a better prince for my people.”

She took two steps toward him, reaching out a hand to touch his elbow. “You don’t seem to be doing such a bad job as it is.”

“I’m serious, Gwen,” he insisted.

“Well, of course I’ll help you,” she said. “Anything you need.”

His eyes softened. “Be careful I don’t hold you to that,” he said cryptically, but before she could ask him what he meant, the door banged open and Godfrey entered, with Merlin in tow.

“I suppose Amil told you that they’ve begun rounding up the conspirators?” he asked Arthur, who nodded. Merlin came over and stood next to Gwen, bumping her shoulder gently.

“Nothing’s going to happen to Akbar, though.”

Godfrey shrugged. “If by ‘nothing,’ you mean that he’ll never be allowed to so much as sneeze without his father, his brother, or the council knowing about it, then yes, nothing will happen to Akbar. My lord, I think we should discuss reopening several points of negotiations, in light of all that’s happened.”

“What do you mean?” Arthur asked.

“Well, given the fact that the crown prince tried to kill you, I don’t think it’s entirely out of the way to press for more favorable…” he trailed off as Arthur started laughing. “What?”

“We’re not several hours away from nearly getting killed, and you want to use that to _reopen_ the negotiations.”

“So?” Godfrey said somewhat huffily. “It’s a good strategic move.”

“Oh, I know that,” Arthur said quickly, still chuckling.

“Part of my job as ambassador is to look out for Camelot’s best interests at all times,” Godfrey replied stiffly.

Arthur put out a placating arm. “Yes, I know. Tell me, Godfrey, what do I have to do to get you to come back to Camelot and be my chief minister when I’m king?”

Godfrey’s mouth opened a little. Gwen thought in amusement that Arthur had finally managed to surprise the ambassador.

“Oh,” he said. “Well, my Lord, I am extremely flattered but…”

“You’d probably spend my entire reign trying to get me to stay nice and safe in Camelot,” Arthur said, grinning.

“And you’d spend your entire reign sneaking out behind my back,” Godfrey said. “You need someone who will not die of a heart attack every time they think of you leaving the castle grounds.”

“You’re probably right,” Arthur agreed, and Gwen’s heart lifted when she saw his eyes flick towards Merlin. “Well, at any rate, tell me what you have in mind for the negotiations…” He and Godfrey wandered over to the table, discussing percentage points and tariffs.

Merlin poked Gwen. “Want to go back the bazaar and explore it properly?”

She laughed. “Oh, yes, but—I should probably wait here for Morgana.” Merlin scrunched up his nose in disapproval.

“You’re no fun.”

“It’s been a rather trying day,” she pointed out. “And I want to make sure Morgana’s not still feeling any of the aftereffects of her magic.”

“Hmph. Fine. I’m escaping before Arthur remembers all the chores he has for me.” He glanced at Arthur and Godfrey, still immersed in their trade routes, gave Gwen an impish grin, and walked out the door.

*

Of course, Merlin ran into Morgana on the way out of the palace. She checked a little when she saw him, and he wondered irrationally how, in a palace so big, he still managed to run into people when they were upset with him.

“Morgana,” he started, and she held up a hand.

“I don’t think I am ready to forgive you.”

“I’m sorry,” he said. “For what it’s worth, I am sorry. I never should have lied to you.”

“Thank you,” she said brusquely.

“If you want—I can show you more things. Magic. Stuff I’ve learned, stuff I’ve worked out. When we get home.”

Morgana nodded formally and moved past him. She was several steps beyond him when Merlin called, “The headache—do you still have it?”

She paused for a moment, back to him. Then her head nodded, once.

“It’ll pass. Gingerroot helps. For me it does, anyway.”

There was another pause, and then Morgana’s voice floated back to him, infinitesimally warmer. “Thank you, Merlin.” Then she walked on.

*

Arthur, for his part, simply regarded Morgana for a long moment, before making an imperious gesturing motion with one hand and demanding that she come read over the revisions he and Godfrey were making.

“I’ll be right there,” Morgana said, wandering to the far side of the room where Gwen was starting to pack up some trunks.

“How’s your head?” Gwen asked gently, and then frowned, looking closer at Morgana. “Is everything all right?”

Morgana thought back over the last week. Images of Merlin’s eyes changing color, Helene pressed up against her, the memory of Arthur streaming green water flashed across her mind’s eye.

“No,” she said. “But it will be.” She was grateful when Gwen said nothing and just smiled sympathetically, pressing Morgana’s hand.

“Morgana!” Arthur bellowed. She and Gwen shared a look, half-fond and half-exasperated, and then she crossed the room to join Arthur and Godfrey.

*

When Merlin returned to the room several minutes later, he found Arthur and Morgana in the midst of an extremely loud argument over the feasibility of invading Cornwall. Gwen was watching them in amusement as she folded clothes.

“Why are we invading Cornwall?” Merlin asked Gwen in a low voice as he joined her. Both Arthur and Morgana looked like they were rather enjoying the discussion, despite the annoyance in their tones.

She shrugged. “Arthur started it to prove a point, I think, about moving large groups of people over long distances. But then they got sidetracked.”

“Ah. Where did Lord Godfrey go?”

“He got fed up with their bickering,” Gwen replied with a quirk of her lips. “No bazaar for you?”

“I decided it would be more fun with company,” he told her, and her smiled widened.

“Merlin!” Arthur ordered. “Come here and tell Morgana that she’s wrong!”

“I’d rather like to live, Sire,” Merlin said. “Make Gwen do it.”

 _“Merlin,”_ Gwen and Arthur both complained at the same time, and then grinned at each other. Nevertheless, Gwen moved across the room to join Morgana and Arthur at the table. Merlin hung back a little, watching.

“The thing is, Arthur,” Gwen said, “Morgana does have a point about the baggage camps.” (“Ha!” said Morgana.)

“But I still think—” Arthur began, and then he and Gwen were off, with Morgana jumping in to add her own suggestions and mock Arthur’s.

Merlin stayed silent, still watching. The three of them were each flanking a side of the table, facing one another. Arthur had taken up pen and ink and was busily drawing a diagram to show the girls. Morgana snatched the pen away and added something, and Gwen stretched out a finger, showing Morgana where to go. Merlin was no Seer like Morgana; but standing there, he had a flash of something, as though he was seeing a preview of what would come to shape the course of Camelot’s future. Arthur, and Gwen, and Morgana, standing on equal footing and discussing the problems of the day. Then Gwen bumped into a corner, wincing, as she reached for her own pen, and Merlin thought idly that a rounded table would make things so much easier.

“Well, Merlin?” Arthur asked, snapping Merlin out of his reverie. “What do you think?”

They were all staring at him, waiting. Merlin moved forward, and took his own place at the table among them.

***


End file.
